


Weightless

by cinnamonFreak



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe: High School Stuck, Anorexia, Bulimia, Cutting, Dave-centric, Depression, Eating Disorders, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Happy Ending, Highschoolstuck, I guess sadstuck, M/M, Mental Hospital, Plot, Sadstuck, Self-Harm, dark themes, hospital stay, johndave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonFreak/pseuds/cinnamonFreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>TT: While purposely misgendering yourself is entertaining, I’m unsure of why you’re nullifying your own emotions. </i><br/><i>TT: In layman’s terms, Strider:</i><br/><i>TT: What’s up with you?</i><br/><i>TG: why? so you can make fun of my bullshit??</i><br/><i>TG: no thank you</i><br/><i>TT: David, I repudiated the harbingers that you were enshrouded in once. I refuse to let that occur again. Now get your obdurate ass explaining, Strider.</i><br/><i>TG: lalonde</i><br/><i>TG: stop obfuscating your fucking messages this is like reading a fucking dictionary</i><br/><i>TT: Don’t change the subject.</i><br/> </p><p>In this, Dave could be categorized under some dangerous medical terms. He slips enough for John to noticed. Dave is then pushed into getting help, and he struggles back and forth with it. </p><p>John, his "hashtag bestie," also struggles with shit. His coping skills aren't quite adequate, either, but he managed to keep it between himself and his walls (except for the occasional slip with his parents or his therapist). Of course, he gets better with time, and support and honesty. So does Dave. </p><p>And, after a lot of time, talking, healing, friendship, and care, things look like they'll be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Bulimia, Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Cutting, Depression, Hospital Stay, Therapy. 
> 
> In this, Dave could be categorized under "Eating Disorder: Not Specified." He slips enough for his best friend, John, to noticed. Dave is then pushed into getting help, and he struggles back and forth with it. 
> 
> John, his "hashtag bestie," also struggles with shit. His coping skills aren't quite adequate, either, but he managed to keep it between himself and his shorts (except for the occasional slip with his parents or his therapist). Of course, he gets better with time, and support and honesty. So does Dave. 
> 
> And, after a lot of time, talking, healing, friendship, and care, things look like they'll be okay. 
> 
> That's it. 
> 
> Named for the song "Weightless" by All Time Low.
> 
>  _Manage me, I'm a mess_  
>  _Turn a page, I'm a book half unread_  
>  _I wanna be laughed at, laughed with, just because_  
>  _I wanna feel weightless and that should be enough._  
>  -All Time Low

**WRITER: == > BE UNABLE TO WRITE IN THE PRESENT TENSE.**

**I was unable to do that before you told me to.**

**READER: == > BE JOHN EGBERT IN THE PAST. **

You were John Egbert.

You were thinking about Dave Strider.

You didn’t mind the two AM texts from your best friend – if you were up you’d text back, if not you’d text back in the morning. It was no big deal to you, really.

When it started, you got these texts about once a month or so. They were measley things that consisted of Dave complaining about his inability to sleep, or talking about things that you didn’t quite understand, his sleep-depravation making his coherency fade into the distance.

Over the years, though, it grew like a moss clinging to a tree. It was a gentle avalanche until he was eventually texting you every night at unhealthy hours with no intention of receiving a response.

Dave would text you every morning, too, before anyone would be able to tell if it was very early in the morning or very late at night. Usually these would be time-stamped for about four in the morning, talking about what he dreamed of and what was flooding his mind.

So, he would send long rants (that surely _couldn’t_ be what was really concerning him) long after you went to sleep, and then he would send ‘ _good morning_ ’ texts long before you woke up.

You never said anything about it, though. It was a gradual change; you wouldn’t have noticed unless you were paying attention, really. But, you did get a little tired of waking up every morning with a wall of red texts to read through. That was the only thing that you minded about Dave’s lack of sleep.

The day was like any other day. You got up at six, showered, brushed your teeth, flossed, and changed. Then you stumbled downstairs in a tired haze, got coffee, took your pills, ate a bowl of cereal, put rubber bands on your braces, and had your dad drive you to ‘zero hour’ jazz band where you played the piano. Dave was a percussionist there.

When the class ended he went to his first and second period classes, and you when to yours. While neither of you hated these classes, they weren’t your favorite classes of the day.

In third period you guys had band together again. He was still a percussionist, but in this band you were a clarinet player (albeit you weren’t as good at clarinet as you were on the piano).

After band, you and Dave went to eat lunch with Rose and Jade, as you always did. Dave and Rose would have their semi-friendly banter; Jade and Dave would joke about being so totally cool and such; you would tease and be a dork with Rose; you and Jade would giggle and make jokes together; Jade and Rose would talk in a way that seemed borderline awkward but was actually very genuine and funny (despite how they seemed to be polar opposites, they were close). It was nice. Everyone talked to everyone. You were all happy and smiling all the time. Including Dave.

You guys always walked in the same direction to fourth period, though sometimes you’d something from the vending machine. As a matter of fact, last Thursday you did buy something, putting a five dollar bill in the machine and getting only quarters in return.

Dave proceeded to take them all from the change slot and made you chase after him while he dropped each quarter one by one. He made sure you picked up the previous quarter before he dropped the next one, and he was cackling until his eyes watered, but it was still a dick thing for him to do – even if you were practically pissing yourself with laughter along with him.

You went upstairs to your next class and he went to history, saying a temporary goodbye to one another. He gave you one last dick joke, making you laugh as you left.

You guy met in the hallway between your next class, too. You both had math, but he had Honors Algebra Two while you had the normal version. You guys greeted each other, passed a couple words to one another, and then went to your classes.

Finally, there was the last class of the day. Chemistry. You both shared the class, and then you would both go home after. Sometimes you would go to either his place or yours, but usually you had too much homework to do. On Monday’s, when class ended an hour earlier than usual, you’d both go to a designated house.

Let’s step back for a moment. You didn’t notice when he stopped eating breakfast – how could you? You didn’t live with him; you didn’t see him when he was supposed to break that fast. But you also didn’t notice how he would give his food away slowly throughout the lunch period and throw away the picked-at remains. You teased him a little bit when he started going to the bathroom after nearly every meal, but allowed him to use “increased amounts of water consumption” as an excuse.

You were walking to fourth period with him. It was mid-spring, but it wasn’t quite hot yet – it was actually a little chilly. You were in a long-sleeved tee and jeans. He was in a hoodie and jeans, and when you grabbed his hand to hold as a mild joke, you found that it was cold as frost on winter lawns.

“Jesus,” you said, staring at Dave with eyes that were wide as your car. He pulled his sleeves down to cover his hands, smirked, and shrugged. He was relaxed and unfazed, much like he always was.

“I’m cold as fuck all the time, Egbert – I’m also really white. I think that has something to do with it. Not everyone is as warm-blooded as you, John,” he chuckled and pushed his hands into his pockets. You returned the care-free laugh, some of the tension draining from your form.

“Yeah, except that I know you have two jackets on,” you patted his back when you guys got to where you had to part ways. He grinned, his inner jacket’s hood resting inside of the hood of his outer jacket, fitting together like Russian nesting dolls. “I bet that you were right under the AC in the cafeteria again, weren’t you?”

“No it’s just my heart that cools me from the inside.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and punched his shoulder lightly, teasing your friend the way you always did. You hugged his thin form and before having to go up the stairs to your class, easily wrapping your arms all the way around him. You considered making a joke about how scrawny he was, but you were sure that he got that enough from everyone else. Instead, you just sent another wave over your shoulder as you left, making faces at your friend.

It was a Monday, and you guys would be going over to your house. You were excited, you loved hanging out with Dave to an immeasurable extent. He managed to make you laugh uncontrollably all the time. You loved it irrevocably. (You loved him irrevocably – lol what no you didn’t think that. Though there may be _something_ there, you didn’t love him. That would be insane. You just had a crush – not even that. Just some curiosity about the possibility of a relationship with him.)

Fourth and fifth period were imbecilic. You had French with Rose while Dave had history, and then you both had math. You shared that class with Jade, and Dave had it with Rose.

During class, Jade asked you if Dave was okay.

You said yeah, why wouldn’t he be?

She left it alone, but it was obvious that she was still really worried about him. You decided to ignore it.

Finally, there was Chemistry. You were in there at the same time as Dave, thank goodness.

Karkat was in that class with you guys – he was a distant friend. You guys were “friends” but you weren’t really _friends_ yet; you guys were all totally chill, but he was a grade above you guys and would much rather hang out with Sollux. Sollux was “too good” to talk to you guys because you and Dave were a grade behind Sollux and Karkat.

Dave made sex jokes in that class - jokes that sometimes bordered on taking things too fast, but you laughed loudly at them while the teacher handed out the day’s worksheets.

When he was done making jokes about sexual encounters, Dave leaned over and explained the foreign information to you, telling you all about things that didn’t make a modicum of sense.

You were clueless as to _how_ Dave knew how much he did on the subject, but you certainly couldn’t complain about his knowledge because he taught you what the teacher didn’t (which was everything).

The teacher wasn’t honestly one for “teaching,” she instead showed us videos and gave us worksheets.

You weren’t the only one that Dave taught the lessons to, though. Karkat also learned them from Dave, and he referred other people to the Strider, who would begrudgingly teach the entire lesson from start to end. He had an entire speech laid out for almost every section, and he would recite it to every person that didn’t understand, explaining that they had to understand the beginning to understand the middle and the end.

You both exited the classroom after stacking your table’s chairs. Karkat went with Sollux to Sollux’s car while you both went to your bus, sitting in about the middle of the bus.

“I love your bus so much, John,” he said, sitting next to you. “Mine is always too loud. It’s fun, yeah, but Vriska never shuts up, and when it’s such a long bus ride it starts to get a little bit annoying after a while. It's lively, though.” Dave, despite that fact that he barely lived out of walking distance from the school, had a terribly long busride because he was the penultimate stop.

“Mine is way too quiet, unless you’re riding with us,” you replied. “Like, people miss you when you’re gone because you actually jazz up the ride.” You saw someone (a student from the middle school down the road) nod in the background and you smiled at them, giving a thumbs up.

“Yeah, but a consistent amount of my awesomeness can drive all but John Egbert insane. Like, I’m the awesomeness fairy, twerking my awesomeness all over y’all’s bus. It’s like pixie dust – or the stuff from pixie sticks. A little bit of it is great, but the amount that I am excreting everywhere is drowning everyone in awesome dust. It’s getting into people's lungs and sticking to their moist mouth, and no matter how hard they dance the awesomeness is too much so they target me, the producer of the awesomeness. I shoot ironies from my nipples and everyone gasps and perishes – except John, who had the insight to bring a scuba suit. His tank is his personality that just completely cancels out my awesomeness because of how much of a nerd he is.” _Jesus,_ you thought _, does Dave ever breathe?_

“Disturbing and hurtful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely.” You saw a sixth grader with a horrified face over his shoulder and you couldn’t help the cackle that boiled up past your lips.

You laughed hard. You were practically crying, covering your mouth and giggling like an idiot. Dave was laughing too, his less-than-attractive laugh just making everything funnier. You were bent over in your seat and Dave was leaning on the window. People around you were also laughing, uncontrollably and untamable.

Then, you heard Dave snort.

You and several other people all yelled at once; “snort point!” - a tradition that had existed for a long time, but you weren’t completely sure where it’d originated.

Everyone was laughing their asses off, their joy and laughter uninhibited and carefree as they went to sweet abodes of varying warmth.

The ride continued in such a manner until you got off of the bus, both of you walking to your cozy, suburban upper-middle-class home, where your Filipina step-mom was already getting ready for dinner and cleaning, and your little brother was wandering around in his underwear, spouting nonsense in half-English and half-Tagalog and simply being a bright and happy little child.

When the kid came near, Dave picked him up with ease, coddling him. He blew raspberries onto Ben’s stomach and kept the child’s grubby hands away from his shades. Davs pecked kisses all over his face and hugged him and messed up his hair and asked him questions, a plethora of joyus, innocent love being secreted from the teen. Ben asked Dave if he wanted to play blocks with him and Dave said to ask ‘ _Mister John Egbert_.’

“John! John! Can Day and I _p-way_?” The four-year-old asked. You ran a hand through his mess of hair, knowing the inability to maintain a sense of neatness in the realm of hair must occur genetically, despite the fact that he was only your half-brother.

“Maybe after dinner, but right now Dave has to help me with my homework, okay?” You told him, sounding the same as you would if you were speaking to an adult. He frowned but he nodded, running off to your guys’ mom. You smiled warmly to yourself while your eyes followed him. “Ready to go downstairs?” You asked Dave, pulling your eyes from your little brother to instead focus on your friend. He nodded.

“We’ll be downstairs making out, Mrs. Egbert,” Dave joked to your mom, making an indiscernible blush spread across your dark cheeks. Your mom laughed while Ben asked her what _making out_ was, reaching up for her. She explained how it was what people do to test if they want to get married and become mommies and daddies together.

You chuckled to yourself and pulled Dave along with you, trotting joyfully down to the basement. There was a TV there, and there were video games and a number of other things that you could enjoy with Dave that resided in the lower level.

You could easily predict what Dave was going to do before he did it, but you were still frustrated when he did it, anyways.

He sat down at the table and brought out his chemistry homework, the his side-glance telling you to get out your own papers.

“She’s not even going to check it,” you whined, sitting next to him and rooting through your backpack before locating the binder that had your chemistry homework. Your backpack was a mess of papers, about as organized as your brother’s. Dave, on the other hand, had a red file folder that was kept in careful order and had (“ironic”) unicorn stickers on it.

“Yeah, but you need to pass the test,” he imitated your tone, putting the paper down on the table and pulling a pencil out of his pocket. You had to dig through to the bottom of your backpack to find your own pen, which was missing its cap and almost out of ink.

He then proceeded to teach you everything that the teacher failed to teach you – the teacher referred you to a website, but that wasn’t the same as teaching it. Dave managed to comprehend the material without any problems, his mind working with ease to wrap around the material. It made no sense to you and it was absolutely infuriating, but at least he taught you all of the information.

For nearly an hour following, he taught you everything that you didn’t understand from your math and science classes and then you both did your separate English and History homework. You were in AP History and AP Prep English, while Dave was in the normal version of both – which shocked you because he had straight A’s and he understood your work in both of the classes better than you did sometimes. Then, you worked on your French homework and he breezed through his AP Spanish homework.

Finally, it was play time.

You considered getting out your little brother’s blocks and asking Dave if he wants to play with those as a joke, but decided against it. While it would be funny, it would be too much work to actually play with the blocks, and you knew in the back of your mind that Dave would challenge you on the joking offer, forcing you to get out the blocks to fulfill the joke. So instead, Dave got out a DVD from his backpack and popped it into your PS3. You chuckled and started prepping to watch whatever it was that Dave was going to make you watch.

It was the first season of _The Great British Bake Off._ You laughed about it quietly to yourself while you helped him pull the couch out. Soon, both of you were sitting and watching.

“Why do you watch this shit?” You asked him as the first episode came to a close.

“For the ironies, of course,” he replied. His voice was flat and serious, but you were pretty sure that the only time that his voice was ever serious was when he was joking. Dave was funny that way. It made you laugh.

“What’s ironic about it? Because only British Grannies watch this shit?” You grinned, pawing at his shoulder.

Dave didn’t give a sarcastic reply, but stayed silent for a long time. The air quickly solidified into a choking hold, grabbing both of you around your throats and screaming in your ears. You weren’t quite sure why, but your stomach clenched, as if telling you that there was something very wrong with Dave’s prolonged silence. You felt your eyebrows raise, but you weren’t sure why Dave’s silence worried you so much.

“It’s too deep of an irony for you to understand.”

His reply caught you off guard and you spared him a sideways glance. He gave a sly half-smirk and you returned it uneasily. His vague reassurance did nothing to calm the churning in your stomach.

You both turned to the show once the air settled, but you made him lay his head on your lap because you wanted to keep him close in times of such stress. He was such a small thing, and you love him and coddled him (even though he was a lot taller than you; he was a scrawny giant. You were five foot eight and he was like a tree. One shouldn’t feel ‘short’ when they’re your height, but his six foot two stature made you feel like a dwarf. That jerk).

After an episode and a half, your mom called you both up for dinner. Dave rolled over and looked up at you through his shades, claiming that he’d had a large lunch and that he’d probably pass.

“No, you didn’t, Dave,” you laughed, shaking his head. “I watched you eat lunch. You had like, two bites of food. Don’t worry about it, eat as much as you want to, man. We’ve got plenty of food,” your mind casting back to when Dave was a kid and worried about finances because his brother would quietly worry about finances. You never had to worry about these things and you always made it clear to him that he wouldn’t have to worry about them while he was at your house either.

You watched the muscles at the bottom of his eyes and top of his cheekbones twitch. You were confused about what would worry him like that, but he shrugged and forced out an easy-going laugh.

“Well, you mom _does_ have the best cooking,” he said, rolling over to get up. You felt like there was a reticent air about him, making you frown to yourself. Nonetheless, you followed Dave up the stairs and sat down next to him at the table.

Your mom had laid out all of the food, so you all plated your food and sat down. Dave was sat between you and Ben, so he helped your little brother pull together his plate.

Once you were all settled and ready to eat, you tucked in while Dave fed Ben his greens and told him that if he didn’t eat his vegetables he wouldn’t be able to create ‘totally ill raps.’

Ben simply responded with the fact that he helped wrap the spring rolls, making Dave laugh and tell him that he did very well.

Throughout the meal, you watched Dave. You noticed that he only lobbed a fraction of the amount of food that he’d usually scarf down onto his plate (you’ve watched him eat a large pizza in one sitting in the past). Not only that, however, you also noticed that he didn’t finish his food before he cleared his plate and washed it in the kitchen sink - he’d always been a great houseguest and he always cleaned up after himself and everyone else after they were done, and he would insist on it if you guys told him not to.

You kept your concerns about his eating habits to yourself.

When you guys were done with dinner, you guys brought Ben downstairs to play. You watched Dave and Ben build up a large tower, and then you watched Dave tell him to smash it.

Ben, of course, did smash the simple creation, reducing it to a pile of blocks. Ben giggled and Dave laughed right along with him, a dopey grin spread across his lips. You let a small, loving smile spread across your own lips - you couldn’t help but love how well Dave and your little brother got along.

When Ben was sent to go back upstairs to play with your mom, you guys laid out like lazy teens and watched another episode of the ‘ _GBB’_ (the _Great British Bakeoff)_ before he had to go back home. Dave, of course, complained about how he’d miss you, but when it was time to go he gave you no actual trouble.

Your mom was the one to drive Dave home while your dad stayed at home with Ben. You rode with them, sitting next to Dave in the back while he “ironically” made you hold his hand.

After your mom dropped Dave off by his apartment, she turned the car around and started on the way home. In the tense silence, you could feel that your mom wanted to say something to you, making your skin prickle. After a few moments of consideration, you put your hand out for her, signalling that you wanted to talk. She took it, knowing what you meant.

When she spoke, it was in Tagalog, telling you that she was worried enough to revert to her native tongue. You followed along carefully, having a few troubles following along but filling in the gaps well enough.

“ _After your dad and I first got married and when I first got to America… things got complicated,”_ she began. You felt the skin on the back of your neck prickle in reaction to her intense, serious tone. _“I gained a lot of weight. There were pictures but I threw them all away because I wasn’t happy with them. So, I stopped eating – that was even worse. Your dad was scared and angry about it. He made me eat and told me that he only cared about was my health. I saw a dietician and other things went on – you were six I think. Everything was… it was dark. You always asked if I was okay and told me that if you had to eat your vegetables then I would have to eat my vegetables, and I came out on top. I eat. I exercise and I worry about everything, yeah, and sometimes I wonder if I eat too much or not enough, but I’m okay now…_

_“I know that was a bad story. I know you’ve heard parts and I think you remember little bits – like when mommy had to go away for a week and things like that. You cried and I was touched because I’d only been your mom for two years. But that’s aside the point; I’m afraid that Dave isn’t… I think that maybe, just maybe, he’s… going through something similar. I never really see him eat anymore. He’s scared, and I know that he lies about it – and it’s a problem if you’re lying about it, you know that. So… we need to tell his brother, John.”_ You blinked, absorbing all of the information that you were just given for a few moments.

“ _So… you think he’s…_ ” You paused. You couldn’t remember the word in Tagalog (it had never been your best language) so you responded in English. “You think he’s anorexic?”

“I know that something is up,” she supplied. You shrugged a little, the pit of your gut agreeing with her. “And if _anything_ is up then he _needs_ to know that help is okay. And have you seen how thin he’s gotten in these past few weeks? Or maybe these months. It’s scary – though, I wouldn’t be too surprised if you didn’t. You don’t notice little changes in people if you see them every day. You know what I mean, I know you do, John.”

“I’m scared,” you said, your voice a quiet hum as your vocal cords graced against each other. She nodded.

“Watch him for a few days, first, okay John? But ask him about it a lot. It makes him realize that you’re paying attention and that you _know_ , but he’ll try to hide it harder. Even if he does hide it more, though, it’s hard once you start watching him… just make sure he’s safe. He’s such a great kid.”

You nodded in return, deciding not to say anything in response. You squeezed her hand nervously, and you both remained silent for the rest of the ride.


	2. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But I'm stuck in this fucking rut_  
>  _Waiting on a second-hand pick-me-up_  
>  _And I'm over getting older_  
>  _If I could just find the time_  
>  _Then I would never let another day go by_  
>  _I'm over, getting old_  
>   
> 
> In which things are revealed.

You were Dave Strider.

You were the coolest douchebag to ever roam this planet, aside from your brother.

You had all of your shit together. You were the cool kid, with all of your emotions hidden behind your trademark shit-eating smirk, or a blank expression. You only showed the slightest of queues, you were tall and slightly muscular. You worked out to keep your perfect body form, weighing one hundred and thirty six point four pounds approximately. You were six feet tall and two inches. Your BMI was approximately 17.46.

See, one’s BMI, or their body mass index, was a tricky thing. Anything under 18.5 was considered underweight. Anything over the BMI of 25 was considered overweight. Of course, there were exceptions to this. There are people with fast metabolisms who are healthy despite their “underweight” BMI, and there were fit people who were “overweight.” In the end, what mattered was that people were healthy, no matter what their weight was.

You guessed that you were underweight, but that didn’t particularly matter to you. You consumed under four hundred and six calories a day, and that did matter to you (quite particularly). It was just one of those things that probably didn’t matter, but you cared about a lot.

Yesterday, you ate seventy two calories.

The day before yesterday (Saturday), you ate six, from three pieces of gum throughout the day.

Today, you had no idea how many calories you’d had. You ate two mini-french-fries  
during lunch (approximately 27 calories a piece, rounded up to thirty on one because it wasn’t as small as the other and you were worried and you didn’t want to eat more calories than you wrote in your journal but you were okay with eating less calories than what was in your journal). You had four bites of pancit, ingredients unknown, and a bite of a spring roll containing carrots, the wrap, noodles that you’re too white to know the name of, celery, and other unknown ingredients, and you had two bites of steamed white rice.

You were worried as fuck.

After Mrs. Egbert had dropped you off, you waited outside until she was gone, then turned around to go to a near-by gas station. Once you got there, you went into the bathroom. It was a disgusting outdoor bathroom, and you hadn’t brought anything (going against what the sign said, but screw that). The floor was a disgusting plate of bacteria and dirt, but you knelt in front of the porcelain apparatus anyway. Sometimes, things just had to be done. 

You shoved your shades into your pocket and your sleeves up your arms, revealing your pale forearms and elbows as you prepared yourself for what you were about to do - though, most preparation, you found, was asinine because there’s no way to truly prepare yourself for this. 

The toilet was putrid in every sense of the word – the knowledge that a bunch of weirdos had sat on it, missed while pissing, and thrown up here; the smell of what was probably caused by spicy tacos or curry; the once-white material that had developed into a stained, browning yellowish-red mess - every minute detail built up to create the grotesque mess in front of you. Somehow, you managed to look past it and forced yourself to continue. 

You didn’t put your fingers down your throat at first, instead gagging and forcing your food up with will alone. The system was a harsh series of forced dry-heaves from the bottom of your gut as you tried to expunge what was in there. You managed to get up a couple tablespoons, but it wasn’t enough, you soon found yourself realizing. Your stomach remained uncomfortably full, the warmth sitting sickly in your chest. 

Eventually, you gave up on using your Green-Lantern-esque ways to get the food up with will alone, and you resorted to shoving your fingers down your throat. The feeling was all too familiar, your fingers rubbing against the slick insides of your mouth and the harsh edges of your teeth. You were glad that you had the ability to put your entire hand into your mouth, since you had to push your fingers deeply into your mouth to even get yourself to react. 

You gagged and coughed while poking and prodding at the back of your throat violently, going against every instinct that screamed at you to stop. 

After a few moments of torturing the back of your throat, you managed to get yourself to throw up. The acid burned the back of your throat, and it coated your hand, the liquid forcing its way past your tongue and leaving a disgusting taste. The stench was everywhere, and you could see the rice and noodles mixed in with the brownish stomach acid. It was terrible, but what was much worse was the fact that you were used to it - that you were comforted by the sight of it. 

Your hand and your mouth burned, but you kept going until you were only able to force up small amounts of stomach acid. Then, even that receded into dry heaving, your stomach lurching and trying to rid itself of nonexistent contents. 

The heaves slowly calmed, getting further and further apart and being replaced with deep breaths. You gasped desperately at the thin air, your forearms resting on the seat of the dirty toilet. You were glad that your jacket had managed to remain clean, the calm part of your mind supplied as you tried to get yourself calm. 

You felt the scabs that were already on your hand – you told everyone that you’d punched a wall – burning and you had no doubt in your mind that your hand was bleeding again. Oh well. 

After a few thoughtful seconds, you finally got up and walked to the sink on weak legs. You washed your hands for an uncomfortably long amount of time, and then rinsed your mouth out. When you deemed yourself passable, you took out your bottle of water and drank it down with ease. The liquid was beautiful against your scratchy throat and in your weak stomach. When it was empty, you filled it back up - had one of the fancy ones with a filter built in. (John got it for you for your birthday last year, and he gave you filters for it all the time since his mom no longer used hers. His mom was happy to give them to you.)

After mussing with your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror for an indiscernible amount of time, the moments and minutes blending together. Your cheeks were hollow and pale. Your eyes were sunken and dull. Your hair was flat and dead. You decided to shove your shades back onto the bridge of your nose instead of staring at your reflection any longer, turning and exiting the bathroom and quickly as your foggy mind could manage. 

On your walk home, you felt a little bit out of it. The buildings around you blended like oil pastels against one another, whirling and blending. It got noticeably worse when you were at the halfway point, all of the blood rushed up to your head at once and forcing you to stop and brace yourself against a wall, feeling too warm and too cold all at once. You weren’t sure if you could make it all the way home, but you kept going.

You walked up the stairs once you got to your apartment building, even though the elevator worked. The muscles in your legs burned, but you paid no heed, figuring that the pain would make you stronger or something along those lines. Besides, the feeling was so minor and asinine that you didn’t think that any real thought should be put into the fact. 

You mind was much more consumed with what you wanted to eat - what you wouldn’t eat. When it came down to it, really, was that you wanted to eat a lot without worrying about it. You wanted peanut butter, you wanted bread, you wanted apple juice. 

Oh god, did you want apple juice. 

You _missed_ apple juice, but if you drank it then you would be over your calorie limit for that day. So, you would have to wait to have it for until tomorrow, because you had to stick to… whatever this was. This sick game of calorie counting and exercising and charting and thinking and measuring. 

For inexplicable reasons, you had to know exactly what you were putting into your body. You weren’t sure why, but you did - and when you didn’t, you didn’t know what to do with your life. It managed to gently tear your apart to the point that you couldn’t function and pay attention in your classes. That meant that your grades would slip, and that would just add to all the other stress that you had. You couldn’t let yourself fall behind. 

When you finally made it to your apartment, you called out that you were home. Your voice was met with complete silence, your words ringing in the empty apartment, making you question your decision to throw up at the gas station instead of in the comfort of your own home.  
You asked yourself this, but you knew also knew the answer. Better safe than sorry. If Bro were to be here, you couldn’t throw up; that would be bad. If he came home while you were doing it, he could find out; that would be worse. 

The burning sensation in your hand made itself known as you realized that you’d been staring blankly at your empty apartment, the door still open behind you. When you were completely roused from your thoughts, you decided that your hand deserved a nice cleaning, so you walked to the bathroom and to disinfect it. You also took a moment to brush your teeth because throwing up was terrible for them and you didn’t want to leave stomach acid residue on them. 

You then left the bathroom, going to the living room and sitting on the couch. You stared blankly up at the ceiling, time becoming imperceivable as your half-lidded eyes focused on nothing, your mind leaving your body completely. You were unaware that an hour had passed, your thoughts so noisily silent that the sixty minutes had drifted off like a single feather that’d been separated from a crow’s wing. Though, you didn’t really mind that the time passed. 

As a matter of fact, you liked it when time passed. It passed with your consent, leaving you and letting your body eat away at itself while you just grew older. 

You didn’t understand time, but you loved it. 

As the blank hour came to a close, your brother walked into the apartment. He called out a greeting, and you responded to him with one in kind, but if someone asked you about what words slipped passed your lips you would draw something blanker than… 

Fuck. Just something really blank. You couldn’t figure out a good simile for it. 

Bro busied himself with hunting down something to eat while you pulled yourself out of your zoned-out state. You managed to get yourself sitting up in the middle of the couch, staring at the black screen of the television. 

You brother eventually found a can of soup that was most likely over a year old, which was probably on sale when you guys bought it, and cracked it open. He heated it up on the stove and offered you some, stirring it as he called across the apartment. 

You declined, claiming that you’d had a lot of food at John’s house. The lie wasn’t unbelievable, so he let it by without a thought. 

He finished making his food and sat next to you on the couch, bowl in hand. He lifted his arm and you immediately wedged yourself under his arm, taking off your shades and closing your eyes as soon as you were in position. He chuckled gruffly before he started to eat his bowl of soul, careful not to spill any of the burning liquid on you. When you were both comfortable, he turned on Celebrity Wife Swap with a quick flick of the remote. 

This was probably your favorite part of the day, just curling up in front of the television with your brother. It relaxed you. You could tell that your brother was tired, and the smell of his musk peaked out from under his deodorant, but you didn’t care about that – if anything, you liked it (Bro’s natural scent reminded you of safety, and Bro was more cuddly when he was tired). You ran your hands over his knee a little bit, admiration spreading like warm butter across your chest. Being close to him made you very happy, and you liked to think that he felt the same. You’ve lived with your brother for almost as long as you could remember – since you were two, at least. He was seventeen years older than you. You were your parents’ happy (but very late) little accident, and when they died, Bro took you in. 

You felt yourself slowly fall into the clutches of sleep as you laid in Bro’s lap, fatigue finally overcoming you. The sound of Bro putting his bowl down cut through your light sleep, and you felt as he put his hand in your hair. Eventually, you heard the TV flick off and, felt as he picked you up and took you to your bed.

You barely heard him say, “You’re far too light, little bro,” but you were asleep enough to ignore it. 

You definitely felt it when he dropped you on your bed, probably figuring that it was more _cooler_ than lightly setting you onto it. You yelped and scrambled to sit up while he chuckled from where he stood over you. 

“You need to eat more,” he laughed, looking like a giant from where you laid, “and you need to change into your jammies.” 

You rolled your eyes and took off your jeans and socks, revealing My Little Pony boxers that would be acting as your “jammies.” He scoffed and left so you could go to sleep, but you didn’t go to sleep after you heard his receding footsteps. Instead, you went to the floor and exercised. 

You didn’t have to justify that. You just did it. You did sit-ups and push-ups and other exercises that didn’t require any equipment. 

When you were done with your workout, you left your bedroom to rid yourself of the mild covering of sweat that you’d built up. It was easy to bypassed Bro’s radar as you slipped into the shower - in all honesty, though, you didn’t think that you did bypass anything; Bro knew that you showered at weird times of the day. Of course, it wasn’t very weird for you guys because your whole building had to share hot water, so the both of you tended to seek out weird times of the day to shower. Besides, he _did_ wake you up less than an hour ago. 

It was already eleven, so you showered quickly, washing your hair and body, brushing your teeth, and shaving, finishing in the span of about five minutes - showers were a quick thing for you, made for getting clean quickly and making sure that you didn’t smell bad. 

When you were done, you dried off and got on a fresh pair of underwear (you kept some underwear in your bathroom under the sink). Your hair was still wet, but you didn’t really mind it. 

After looking at yourself in the mirror for a few minutes, you finally weighed yourself. You stopped your (pussy) worrying about stepped onto the damn scale because why the fuck not. 

_137.2 LBS_

Point eight pounds more than what you’re comfortable with. 

You scowled at the scale for much longer than you should have, as if staring at it would will the number down.

When you were done with your childish bullshit, you went to your room to put today’s weight into your journal, alongside everything you’d eaten that day in your neatest handwriting (weight on left, food and calories on right). 

Once that was done, you switched off the light and plugged your phone in so that you could get into bed. You curled up in your comforter with only your left hand (phone firmly placed in its grip) and your face sticking out so that you could dick around on your phone until sleep found you. 

You laughed to yourself quietly. You put so much work into getting ready for bed and instead of going to sleep you just curled up with your phone and went through your Tumblr. Was that ironic? The outcome of your efforts was contrary to what one would expect. Ironic, yeah? 

You stayed on Tumblr for a while until you finally got bored of it and shifted to reading shitty fanfiction about a dumb webcomic that you secretly loved and texting John. 

You wanted to tell John everything.

You needed to tell John everything.

You wished John would noticed what you were doing to yourself.

You were really glad that all of the effort you put into hiding what you were doing was working, though.

\-- turntechGodhead has started pestering ectoBiologist at 23:28! --   
TG: hey john whats up  
TG: youre probably asleep  
TG: actually youre hopefully asleep  
TG: thanks for dinner by the way it was delicious  
TG: sorry i wasnt very hungry  
TG: so i was talking to rose and im pretty sure shes plotting my death  
TG: jade says rose isnt though. but maybe jades actually plotting my death  
TG: i think that jade could beat me up  
TG: shes fucking 5”2’ that should not be a thing  
TG: i think you could beat me up right now too though ha  
TG: im kind of worried about bro. he works so much its alarming  
TG: im getting a job at dairy queen over the summer. theyve already accepted and stuff. bro said i didnt have to but i am anyways  
TG: my phone screen doesnt feel solid. like i know it is but it doesnt feel solid   
TG: i need to get like my full hour of sleep man. lulzies   
TG: ishould go to bed…  
TG: im kind of hungry but its the middle of the night  
TG: i bet bro has some left over soup  
TG: we have a lot of food in the house  
TG: but at the same time we have no food in the house  
TG: i kind of want to save up to get a laptop like how i got my phone  
TG: itll be great  
TG: ill name him richard  
TG: or something  
TG: call him dick  
TG: the laptop i mean  
TG: i want a red one  
TG: shocker there  
TG: dave strider? like red? how could it be?  
TG: im joking im being sarcastic   
TG: im always sarcastic really  
TG: do you ever wonder why we do some things? like why do we have three meals a day? three specifically? whats up with that? why not one in the morning and one at night? why are breakfast and lunch so close but dinner and lunch so far apart?  
TG: where the fuck does the word meal come from?  
TG: im pretty sure that im like asexual or something because while i feel romantic attraction i dont really have physical attraction to many people you know??  
TG: maybe i just havent found the right person or some shit  
TG: anyways i really have to sleep  
TG: goodnight egbert  
\-- turntechGodhead has ceased pestering ectoBiologist at 01:13!

You finally set your phone down, exhaustion and sleep deprivation taking over for the next couple of hours while you managed to tip off into sleep. You didn’t dream (that you could recall), but your mind did travel far away while you professionally hunted down some Z’s with your bare paws. 

You woke up when your phone buzzed, telling you that someone re-blogged something from you on Tumblr or something equally stupid. Maybe something about Twitter or ANOTHER Facebook message. Damn technology. 

You tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but your body started nagging at you to eat and it told you that no, you couldn’t go back to sleep. You flipped over and curled into a ball, holding your stomach while you tried to ignore the pain that radiated from there. It made strange noises and you whimpered quietly – don’t be a pussy, you thought – but you couldn’t just eat the way your body told you to. So, instead, you grabbed your phone and attempted to block the pain out. 

John hadn’t texted you back yet. You weren’t surprised about that; he rarely texted you before 5:45.

It was 4:26.

\-- turntechGodhead has started pestering ectoBiologist at 04:27! --   
TG: good morning john  
TG: so i was thinking, and semi-short hair is like all around bangs  
TG: i think sollux and that eridan kid are fucking  
TG: i mean they seem to hate each other but i bet theyre fucking. i would bet you a nickel actually  
TG: or i would bet a blow job  
TG: im joking john no homo  
TG: no homo here  
TG: none at all  
TG: dave? homo? thats insane pffft  
TG: anyways, good morning egg-twerk  
TG: on another note though i think i was wrong about the asexual thing. i mean sex is like eh but maybe its more like im always low-key down to bang with anyone and everyone  
TG: like  
TG: if a non-disgusting dude asked me to bang right now id say sure  
TG: if a non-disgusting chick asked me to bang right now id say sure  
TG: actually this sounds kind of sluttish i should up now  
TG: i dont know. asexual or pansexual, it doesnt matter  
\-- turntechGodhead has ceased pestering ectoBiologist at 04:41! --

You gapped and stretched before running a hand through your fine, platinum hair, trying to string together a coherent thought of what you should do until you had to get ready for school. 

Removing your hand from your hair, you noticed a silvery strand of hair sticking to your palm, so you turned your hand over to check it. A quiet uncontrolled gasp escaped your lips when you noticed that tens of dozens of hairs had clung to your fingers, the number easily catching your alarm.

You felt sick to your stomach.

You made a fist and watched the strands bunch together, clinging and sliding smoothly against one another. You swallowed thickly, your breath faster than usual. You thrust your hand out suddenly, dropping them all onto the ground, watching them flutter down. For the most part, they stayed together, but a couple of hairs parted ways and fell to the ground, away from the others. One or two stuck to your hand, which had gone damp from sweat. 

You couldn’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You felt like a fish out of water and kept taking breaths; in and in and in and a small breath out; in and in and in and a little out and so on. You brought your knees to your chest, but when you did you saw that more hairs were knocked loose onto your knees, which didn’t help your panicked state in the slightest. 

How long had this been going on? Had your hair already been falling out and it was just worse now? Was it normal? Was it a gradual change? What were you supposed to do?

You sat like that for what felt like a miniature forever (it was less than twenty minutes), your heart beating too fast and your breath a little too hard to capture and your hands shaking too much. You couldn’t figure out why you couldn’t breathe, or why you felt like throwing up over this. 

When you finally came out of it ( _or, when you finally grew a pair and got your shit together_ ), you took a moment to mess with your hair. The strands were falling out of your scalp with ease that should not exist. You were freaked out. 

Fuck, you were scared.

You were scared because _you were doing this to yourself, and you couldn’t seem to stop it._

Minutes passed, leaving you to be a tired, shaking mess. You mind wasn’t working right, but you did slowly come to realize that it hadn’t been forever that you’d been panicking. It was only about 4:56.

Your body felt almost distant when you stood up, and made your way to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared. You could hear Bro moving around – _maybe that’s why I always wake up about this early,_ you thought – but you were too unfocused to pay attention to that. You grabbed any and all food that you could see in the fridge. Celery. A day-old sandwich. Leftover take-out. There was plenty of food there. 

You pulled the food out of the fridge and set it front of you, staring at the food for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before digging in. You ate with abandon, almost sobbing while you did so, your stomach doing uneasy flips while you shoved your mouth full and swallowed the food down. 

The process was violent and quick as you shoved and choked on whatever food you could really get your hands on until your eating slowed to a stop while you sat, still shaking, in front of the now-barren fridge. 

Every nerve in your body screamed at you to “throw up NOW,” since you just ate who-know-how-many calories and your stomach couldn’t handle it, tossing and turning dangerously. You were shaking violently, your hands wrapped around your torso tightly while you tried to wait it out. You wanted to back away from the fridge - no, you wanted to go to Bro and cry and tell him you’re not okay. You wanted to scream and cry and yell and throw up and holy fuck. 

Instead, you sat there, staring at the barren fridge. You didn’t move until you heard the shower shut off and Bro exit the bathroom. You sat there for a long moment as Bro began to make his way to the living room, but as soon as your stomach lurched you realized that you had to move. You were barely in control of yourself as you got onto your feet, making them slap the ground to get over to the bathroom. You ended up bent over the toilet, barely managing to get your barf into the bowl while you emptied your stomach of a majority of what you ate. Bro was there a few moments later, rubbing your back with his calloused hands in an attempt to comfort you. 

You could tell that he had questions, but you were too busy throwing up everything you’d had that morning to answer them. It was a while before you were only dry heaving, a line of spit dripping from your mouth and into the bowl.

At least this toilet was cleaner than the gas station’s, you noted dryly.

Bro’s hands were on your bare shoulders (you slept shirtless), and they rubbed at the kinks that were there. You rested there, vomit inches from your face, the familiar scent clogging your nose and burning your tongue and throat. You were breathing heavily, your forearms resting on the toilet seat.

“Jesus, Dave, did you eat something bad?” Bro asked, running his hand through your hair. You couldn’t get up the strength or will to laugh at the sheer irony of that statement. Instead, you coughed weakly, spitting some of the acidic taste from your mouth.

You worried about your teeth, but you didn’t say anything. There was no way that this was good for them. 

You saw Bro move his hand, your light hair falling from his leather glove. He swore under his breath.

“Holy fuck, you’ve got to be really sick Dave.”

 _I am,_ you thought, feeling like a melodramatic, emo teen. (The feeling wasn’t too far off from the truth, though.) 

“I’m going to schedule a doctor’s appointment for you, okay?”

His voice was gentle and you shook your head hard, unable to will up a real response. You were trembling. You shrunk down onto your knees and he scratched your neck lightly. A whimper hissed by your dry throat as your stomach convulsed again, a dry sob coming loose as a result. 

You wondered if you were going to die.

“Don’t shake your head, Dave - this is serious. Your hair is fucking falling out. Fuck, we’re going to schedule you an appointment. You have to stay home from school today - shit I have to go to work… would you be okay home alone? Should I call Roxy?” Bro was rubbing your head nervously with one hand and your shoulder (to almost a painful extent) with his other. It’d take a blind dumbass to miss his worry, and you felt guilty for making him feel this way. You tried to fix it. 

You shook your head.

“… ‘M fine, Bro. Ate something bad…” You rasped. “Don’t need doctor…” When you tried to sit up, you were assaulted by a wave of dizziness so you leaned back into his hand. You felt your hot tears race down your cold cheeks, making a mocking contrast. 

“Dave, we’re going to get you a doctor’s appointment. Worst comes to worse, the doctor tells you that everything is fine.”

You felt kisses being pushed into your hair and you let out another pathetic sob. You were stuttering quietly, shaking your head still. “I-I have a… m-math test today. I ha-have to go to school. I’m ok-kay, I s-s-swear.”

Bro remained silent for a long minute, and you weren’t sure that he’d let you go. After what appeared to be careful consideration, he nodded. “Okay, school isn’t for a couple more hours I guess. You have my number and the Lalondes’ number if anything goes bad. But you’re going to go to a doctor’s appointment soon, okay? Everything is going to be fine, li’l bro.” 

You nodded, the last statement cutting half-way through your mind and registering as another empty promise. He sighed and held you there for a little bit longer, sitting with you in silence for as long as his schedule could manage. His arms were wrapped around you, his chest against your back and his chin on your head. Your breath synced and you felt as if you guys were perfectly in tune. It was beautiful- 

Until Bro absolutely had to leave, and you let him. On his way out, he told you a multitude of times of times to call if you needed anything, and that he loved you and that he was worried and to make sure you didn’t push yourself too hard. You told him that you were going to be fine and that you were already feeling better, and that you’d be fine. He finally left, obviously worrying about you anyways. 

You took a shower after he left, hoping that it would calm you down and knowing that it would clean you up. An alarming amount of hair fell from your head, the strands coming loose with your shampoo. You cried for the first bit, but within twenty minutes you finished your pussy snivelling and managed to get yourself under control. That just left you standing in your shower, the hot water sliding down your back. You were sure that your back would be colored pink by the end of the shower, the shower set on “burn off at _least_ twelve layers of skin” heat-wise. While you were sure that your skin with be sensitive when you got out, you surrendered yourself to the warmth and let yourself relax in response to it. 

By the time you got out, you were feeling much better. Drying off quickly, you grabbed your clothes and got ready for school. Your outfit was basic (jeans and a tee), completed with your well-worn backpack and your ratty converse. You made sure that you had everything before you made your way downstairs and to the bus stop, taking public transit to school. 

The ride was bleak and boring, and you got off of the bus with a number of other high schoolers at the stop in front of your school. Then you went up the stairs to the bandroom and went to the drumset. 

You were shaking, you noticed. Your attempts to stop it were futile, and it put a couple of slip-ups into your well-practiced Latin groove, but it didn’t affect anything enough to stop you from working. You just pushed through it. 

The details of zero, first, and second period blended together, like wet ink when you drag your arm over a paper (being left handed just really sucked sometimes). There were things that remained clear but a lot of it was lost (the band teacher told you to give a kick on three, but you have no idea where you’re supposed to give that kick - fuck, you don’t even know what song it’s supposed to go into). None of it really mattered, though. Not in the end. 

John pestered you about what was happening a few times. You told him that you were a little sick, which wasn’t a lie. You did throw up without shoving your fingers down your throat - that had to be some form of sickness. 

You were beginning to get irritated when he asked what you had for breakfast, so you told him everything you ate in your frenzy that morning - which was a long list. That shocked him, but it also shut him up so you didn’t really mind it. 

Actually, you really just didn’t care much at all. Overall, you just felt like shit and you were scared, and that overtook the irritation. 

Your Spanish teacher asked you if you were okay (in Spanish, surprise, surprise) because when you ran your hand through your hair, you almost instinctively dropped the plethora of strands from your hand. She seemed really worried – she was chill and you guys were tight (probably because you already spoke Spanish) – s you told her that you already had a doctor’s appointment scheduled. She calmed down her flitting and told you that that was good and left you to your course work, which relieved you. 

Really, you breezed through your work in that class because it was easy for you. You grew up in a poor part of Texas, surrounded by a Mexican population and you learned quite a bit of Spanish there. As a child, you didn’t give a shit who you hung out with, and neither did the other kids, really, so you ended up playing with them and developing a pretty firm understanding of the Spanish language. If that made it so that your AP class was easy as fuck, then you had no complaints about it (though, at times your English could be considered “mediocre,” and you thought that had something to do with it). 

In third period you guys didn’t get out your instruments because it was time to check them in - the concert bands turned in their instruments before the Jazz Band did because the Jazz Band had one more concert that was closer to the end of the year. While everyone else scrambled around to get their things turned in so that they wouldn’t be fined or have the cops called on them (the band teacher called the cops if someone didn’t turn in an instrument because it was some federal crime to steal from the school), you sat in the back with John. You guys had handed your band uniforms in a few weeks ago like responsible people, and neither of you borrowed instruments from the school (John had his own clarinet and didn’t take the piano home; you had your own drumsticks, and all of the miscellaneous mallets were accounted for and turned in).So, really, everyone else had to do stuff, but you two played your cards well and didn’t have anything to do during the class. 

“Hey Dave?” He asked quietly, making you look up from your phone and pop an earbud out of your ear ( _Uprock Boogie_ , People Under The Stairs). You were a little freaked out by of his tone of voice, but you tried carefully to avoid showing it.

“Yeah?” You responded, your voice casual and flat. You ran a hand through your hair again - something you did when you were nervous - and you cringed internally when the strands stuck to your sweaty hand. Not only was it terrible that your hair was falling out, it was also gross when your hair stuck to your gross hands. 

“I’m worried about you,” he said quietly, his voice exposing said worry. You nodded, trying to ignore the well-worn guilt that accompanied his worry. It wasn’t the first time he’d worried about you. 

“I have a doctor’s appointment soon…” You began, but when took a natural phrasing pause, John cut you off. His quiet, innocent tones were gone, replaced by sharp and almost harsh words that he jabbed at you. 

“Are you going to tell them that you haven’t been eating?” You knew he knew something when he began the conversation, but the prior knowledge didn’t stop your breath from hitching or your eyebrows from raising. 

John stared at you.

You didn’t know what to say. No one would, you figured. Everything about this situation was uncomfortable and there was no way that anyone would know how to answer John’s question. _’Oh, yeah, I figured that the doc better know how carefully I count them damn calories man’_? _’Nah I figured that they’d be trained enough to be able to spot it without me telling them’_? _’Pft, what’re you talking about? I eat all the time!’_? No. No, none of those would work. None of them at all. Nothing would work in this situation because you shouldn’t _be_ in this situation and you certainly shouldn’t be going to the damn doctor for this shit. You just let out a huff of air that was torn between a scoff and a sob, shaking your head in exasperation and denial. It answered the question well enough. 

John still stared at you, his eyes digging holes into your cheeks and your clenched jaw. You tried your best to ignore it, but it was hard. The shaking, which could’ve been considered ignorable, had made itself known again as you clenched and unclenched your boney fingers. His gaze remained on you, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stretching out like they’d just woken up from the best nap of their damn lives. It caused a small shiver to run down your back, which you tried to suppress by clenching your jaw tighter and squeezing your sweaty hands against each other. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he just _staring at you?_

After a number of painful moments carved into the time, you decided that you were tired of the unending silence and got up. You stole a brisk pace on your way to the Locker Bay (the room where the instruments were usually locked up). It was empty, no one around and instruments either checked in or at peoples’ homes. When you were done staggering in at your frantic pace, you sat yourself down in the corner between the sousaphone and the wall. The sousaphone was hanging up on its wall stand, creating a little cove in which you were comfortably hidden. 

You wanted so badly to cry and be pathetic, but you didn’t let yourself just yet. Instead, you stared at your knees, which had hair on them from your shedding head. You knew that there was a lint roller around here somewhere, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go find it.

In the back of your mind, you noted that your stomach hurt. It actually hurt a lot, but you chose to ignore it.

You don’t know how long you sat there, waiting for your problems to cease existing. It could have been an eternity (you’d be willing to wait an eternity for your problems to stop), or it could’ve been a couple of measly seconds. If you had to guess, you’d say that it was only a couple of minutes. Keeping your cool kid facade on while curled up in a corner in an attempt to keep away from your best friend was unsurprisingly difficult. 

John’s shoes squeaked when he entered the room, preceded by the opening and closing of the door. From where you sat, watching your knees, you could see clean blue Converse and ill-fitting jeans, the bottom of a deep blue hoodie also peeking into your vision. You didn’t look up. You didn’t have to.

“What the fuck, Dave?” John asked, his voice sharp with care. It stabbed at you in ways that true anger never could. “You’re going to tell me what _the actual fuck is going on, right now._ “

You still didn’t look up, feeling pathetic. The feeling dug and burrowed in your chest, making home at the expense of your pride. Tears pricked at your eyes in response to the burrowing, but you paid no heed. If you ignored the problem, it didn’t exist. 

You considered punching yourself for giving such a cliché response, but you didn’t. Your words were paper thin and wavering, as if they could fall over at any sign of wind. The patheticness in your chest burned a fire of shame which made your throat constrict. 

“I’m scared as hell, man. I’m fucking terrified. This is like… I’ve fucked up bad man. I started this stupid fucking thing because I wanted some control but now I can’t control shit. Or myself. It’s… scary. I tried to actually eat today and it went over like a fuckton of boulders and my hair's falling out and shit. I can’t sleep and my body hurts and the time. Sometimes I can’t move because of it, in the early hours of the morning. I mean I can’t even enjoy AJ anymore because it don’t fit into this mangled diet that I’ve forced myself into and it’s irreparable and inexplicably lucrative. It’s nice but it’s also frustrating, like climbing a mountain with no top. I just want to get there, but I can’t,” the words droned on for what felt like forever. You weren’t sure where they came from, tumbling out of your lips. The shame only got worse, making your face burn and your bottom lip tremble. Your eyes were wet, but tears didn’t fall yet. They would be oil to the fire in your chest, and you weren’t sure that they’d smoke out the little shame goblin you’d acquired. 

There was another long silence while you let John think over his response. You were still staring down at your knees, your shoulders tense and your lip going back and forth between trembling and squeezing into a tight line while you forced yourself not to cry. 

You weren’t surprised by his silence. What’s a person supposed to say when their stoic, _“emotionless”_ friend breaks down completely during band because of his unhealthy eating habits?

The silence was heavy. 

He slid down next to you after a time, the sousaphone and the wall keeping the two of you safely half-hidden. No one was around, so it didn’t matter much. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked, his voice still caring but no longer harsh. It was a wisp rather than a dagger. 

There was a sliver of fear in his words, and you felt like he wasn’t mad or disappointed in you, which comforted you. He was just frightened and caring - he was probably worried too. 

Your tense shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug, keeping your eyes glued to the knees. Your lips moved before you could think of your answer properly. “I thought I had it under control.”

Cliché answer. Maybe you saw it in a movie or something because you’re sure you’ve heard someone else say that, but you can’t place where you heard it. 

John gave a deep, belly sigh, sounding like he was going to cry. You didn’t want him to cry, but you would be very touched if he did which was probably sick of you. You pretended that you never thought of it. 

“I’m going to tell Dirk.”

There was no room for an argument, so you didn’t try to argue. You were a little scared, but you knew that it was coming before this had happened. Dirk was going to force you to the doctor anyways, but now no one had to look for a diagnosis. 

You tried not to think about what was going to happen next. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you whispered. He nodded, putting a dark hand onto your knee. He was a little ashy, and you knew that he’d be putting on lotion during lunch (it was going to be Jade’s lotion. It smelled super girly, but we all knew that John loved it. This month it was Papaya scented). 

John stayed silent for a long time while you stared at his hands, backing up from the verge of crying finally. You were happy about his silence. It was probably the best thing that he could’ve done for you in that moment. 

When you let out a quiet sigh and leaned over to rest your head on his shoulder, he pulled out his phone and dialed your brother. Your action had probably prompted him to move, but you weren’t sure. You didn’t move, letting your eyes slide shut while you listened to his conversation. A knot twisted in your stomach that you didn’t have the energy to respond to. 

“Dirk… yeah, I am in class - we are in band right now… no, everything is not alright at all. Dave hasn’t been eating… I think he is underweight… we talked and… I don’t know… I don’t know. Sorry. I know. Yeah. I think at least six months. It’s been gradual I believe. I should have noticed, though. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, I know, and he’s too thin… yeah, I agree… Don’t worry about it, he’s my best friend… don’t say that, Dirk, don’t even fucking say that. I didn’t notice either, and I am so fucking ashamed, you have literally no idea. He was hiding it very well. It took an outside eye to notice – don’t fucking cut me off, man,” John’s chuckle was comforting, “it took an outside eye. My mom noticed. And I think she only noticed because she’s like been there before… I understand. Don’t overwork yourself… yeah, I agree… Mhm, I will… Goodbye.”

There was a pause, and John rested his head against yours. 

“Dirk says he loves you,” John said, the words thick with emotion. “And I love you, Dave.”

You couldn’t voice your response, so you didn’t try, just squeezing your eyes shut. You thought you were done with the crying, but now the tears slid down your face, going wherever gravity led them. 

You loved them, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to TylahJane, who's a wonderful editor and amazing and really the best let's be honest here.


	3. Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Maybe it’s not my weekend_   
>  _But it’s gonna be my year_   
>  _And I’m so sick of watching while the minutes pass as I go nowhere_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cutting happens. Watch out.

****The day was a roller coaster. Extended metaphors were usually Dave’s thing, but it was a total rollercoaster.You could see right where everything was going looking forward, but the slow building ups, sudden drops, loops, and stomach-churning turns took you by surprise when they came up.

You could honestly say that you expected Dave’s hesitation to face any concerns that you had. You actually expected him to be even more resistant to any help! But he wasn’t; he had pretty much accepted your help without too much struggle. Things went even smoother than you’d anticipated, really. In the end, his brother was aware and dealing with things and that’s all that you could really hope for; Mister Strider was the adult and he’d be MUCH more adept in dealing with Dave than you ever could hope to be.

That... didn’t stop you from stressing out, though.

You’d known Dave for forever. Ever since you moved here with your dad and your step-mom. That’s a long time to know someone, since you’ve been here for quite a while! You knew him when he threw up at school in third grade, you knew him when he switched from dumb anime shades to sleek aviators, you knew him when he found out he was allergic to most contacts, you knew him when he got sent to the office for playing on his DS.

That’s a long time to know someone! He hadn’t been sent to the office for playing video games during class in WEEKS!

When you guys were done with the day, everything dragged on in a pseudo-normalcy that didn’t settle well in your stomach. You went with him on his bus and went to his apartment to hang out there in a stiff discomfort that you’d never felt with Dave before. When Bro got home he let you go with the two of them to the hospital, but he took you home once Dave was checked in and being seen by the physician. While dropping you off at home he talked to your mom a little bit because, apparently, when their kids have been friends for long enough, people become friends.

You missed most of the conversation between them, sadly, but you were glad to see that your step-mom got Bro to laugh because Bro seemed pretty tired. His usually impeccable posture was slouched, his hair a mess and the bags under his eyes weighing his head down. It was almost scary to see Bro like that! He’d always been so strong, so easily confident and a little terrifying. Now, he seemed almost demolished and it’d all happened in the course of one day.

Dave was demolished, too, but his demolition had taken place over the course of months, so no one had noticed until now.

You went inside where you mother had dinner ready, and you found that your dad was already home and playing with your little brother. You greeted your little brother while you all sat down, and dinner passed around the table with the same unnerving pseudo-normalcy that you’d been facing throughout the day. It was a painful comfort.

After scarfing down dinner you holed yourself up in your room, much to your mother’s distain. She didn’t want you to just hide away from everything that was happening, and she requested that you stayed downstairs and watched TV with them or something. You declined the request, claiming that you were tired. She wasn’t fond of your argument, but you reasoned that it’d been a long day - which wasn’t untrue! Her concerns were justified, but easily calmed by a kiss on the forehead and a soft, reassuring smile.

Your mom still wasn’t _happy_ that you were going to “bed” at eight o’clock, though. You didn’t blame her for her distrust.

After stripping down to your boxers and your tee shirt, you didn’t do anything for a long time. Literally. You laid on your back, looking up at the stickers on your ceiling (glow in the dark ghost stickers that were rad as hell) and you did nothing but maintain homeostasis.

Your eyes were glazed over while you sat there and thought, almost overly conscious of how your breath felt against your dry tongue while you breathed through your mouth. It was spring and, as if glasses and braces and peanut allergies weren’t enough, you were also allergic to whatever the wind was bringing, forcing you to breath through your mouth during this season. Things let up in September for you usually, which was better than all year, but from March to August you were mired in a fog of dry-eyes and mouth-breathing.

You could hear the washing machine going from your room, telling that your mother was doing laundry. You figured that this would be her last load because it was getting late and she always made sure that her clothes were folded or hung up before she did anything else. After your first encounters with laundry, you found that it was because clothes wrinkle if you don’t fold them right away, making your understand her laundry madness a little better. You listened to the rattle of the dryer and you wondered exactly how far below you it was, down to the feet.

Ben was already asleep, you knew. You wondered if his white noise machine drowned out the noise of the washer, or if he could even hear anything in his room. You guessed that it didn’t really matter, so long as he did not wake up too easily.

There was a heaviness in your lungs that tugged at each breath that you took, and you knew that it had nothing to do with allergies. It was accompanied by a rock lodged in the back of your throat and an itch in your fingers, and the steady best of your heart didn’t drown it out. You knew what you wanted to do, some part of you thinking that the act would make things better. Every logical part of you pointed out that it wouldn’t help you at all. What would help you would be going to your mom and crying about everything that’d happened, or focusing on something else that would take you away from the feeling, or trying to get yourself out of the “rut” in any way possible. Some action that did not make you feel more scared and sad and small.

You continued to stare up at the ceiling anyways, your stomach burning in anticipation because you weren’t going to stop yourself.

Time passed, and your mother opened up your door to check that you were asleep. Your muscles were already relaxed and you allowed your eyes to close to give the appearance of sleep. You listened to your mother open up the door, flick off your light, and then leave your room again, closing the door behind her, every step condescendingly silent to your listening ears. Once she was surely gone you opened up your eyes again, returning to looking up at your ceiling.

The ghosts on your ceiling looked different in the lack of light, and that would usually amuse you! But everything crashed into a wall of insurmountable apathy, so you did not smile at the little ghosts. You knew that you should go to someone – gosh, even Rose could help with this! – but you didn’t. You went against the strong knowlegde that a small amount of help right now would make everything easier and you feel a thousand times better, instead just letting yourself stew in the stress and distress and sadness that you were putting yourself through.

When you glanced at your clock, you saw that your mom would probably be asleep by now, and you figured that the time had come. There was no point in not doing it because you were very good at hiding things and you knew every facet of keeping the secret by now! It got really easy after a while. So, you went over to your computer and got the little slip of silver from under your monitor, trying not to disrupt the dust that surrounded it too much because that would arouse suspicion. (You had another taped to the back of your bathroom drawer and one taped to the bottom of your bed frame, just in case.)

Your fingers shook when you went to sit on your bed, the razor from an old pencil sharpener (it was a Spiderman pencil sharpener, too) between your index and thumb. Dave could take a lesson from you; Marvel usually made you so happy, but you were using one of their promotional products to do something that’s considered very depressing. Talk about ironic.

The fact made you chuckle dryly, your eyes half-lidded while you hiked up the bottom of your boxers, revealing an unnervingly scarred thigh. The scars wouldn’t just go away, you knew, but you also didn’t care. You skin was tan enough that they wouldn’t draw attention, and they were covered carefully by your boxers, so you wouldn’t have to worry about them until, one day, you have sex with someone. Hopefully by then they’d be faded and you can just tell the person you’re with that you were a fucked up and gross teen, but “that’s the past and there’s nothing to worry about now! It was just a phase!”

You turned the razor in your fingers, your heart beating in your chest and screaming against the silence that surrounded you tightly. With the sharp side of the razor facing towards your skin, you pressed it against your skin firmly and held it there for a second. It didn’t break your skin until you pulled it down.

-

That night, you cleaned your leg with a black tank top and pulled the leg of your (black) boxers down. Everything went back into its place before you nestled into your bed again, your eyes closing and your shoulders relaxing despite the tension that had clung to it throughout the day because of the stresses of the day.

You needed to find a better way to deal with your stress, though you told your therapist that you like to watch movies when you’re stressed out, or play piano or talk to your mom or play with your little brother.

Lying to your therapist might not be the best idea, in both hindsight and foresight. But, either way, you needed thicker glasses so you don’t pay much heed.

Embarrassingly, you didn’t actually set your alarm clock in the mornings yet (though, you knew that it was a habit that you should get into). Instead, your mom woke you up in the mornings like you were a middle schooler. On some days she’d just set Ben loose on you to wake you up.

She didn’t do that in the morning, though. Instead, she let you sleep. Without telling you, she called the school and told them that you were sick, and then she e-mailed all of your teachers telling them the same. She had a very good relationship with all of your teachers, and when it wasn’t scary it was very nice because she always knew when to help out when you were struggling.

But gosh, it was scary sometimes! She always knew when you skipped your home work!

This wasn’t one of those times. Instead, you just slept soundly until about eight thirty, at which time you rolled out of bed in a mild panic and got dressed as quickly as you could, running a hand over your hair and a brush over your teeth before you tripped your way downstairs, where your mother was cleaning the kitchen.

When she saw you, she laughed at how disheveled you seemed and immediately went to give you a comforting hug, putting her arms around your shoulders. She was much shorter than you were, you noted; she used to be a million feet tall to you but now she was so short. You were approaching six foot and she was still only five three. Your dad was still taller than your at six two, but your parents did not seem so big anymore.

You hugged your mom back, worry all across your face while you looked down at her. “Mom! Do you know what time it is?!” You squeaked, checking your Samsung phone again to see the time.

She laughed a little harder at that, making you chuckle nervously and relax a little into the hug. After a moment, she pulled back and looked up at you with a casual smile, and you had to take a moment to appreciate her. She was very beautiful, easy to get along with, and she had a nice laugh. If you got to choose your mother, she’s the one you would have chosen.

Maybe you did get to choose your mom. Your dad had married a couple years after your bio mom died, and there’s no way that he would have ever married someone you didn’t like.

“If you went in to school today, you would not do well. You’re staying home so that you can be at 100% tomorrow,” she supplied, pulling back to pat your cheek and go back to what she was doing. There was a plate of food on the counter, steam still coming off of the food, and you were sure that it was for you. You went to sit at your usual spot at the bar of the kitchen and stabbed at the food with your fork, taking a couple of large bites. You wondered what it was like for Dave – what it was like for your mom– to eat when you found the action so pleasurable. Did Dave like eating, but hate the result? Or did he not like food? Did he find chewing disgusting? Did he just avoid it all together? You could not imagine struggling with something so natural.

When your mom put a cup of coffee down by your cup (it more cream than anything else, really), she pulled you from your thoughts. She was drinking her own cup of coffee, wrapping both hands around her cup and looking back at you a moment later. You swallowed your food before you gave her a small _thanks!_ and took the cup of coffee by the handle. You took a small sip, the warm liquid running down your throat and washing down your food quickly, saving you from any other thoughts.

The two of your chatted idly, the words you exchanged not having very much substance. She mentioned that the weather was supposed to be overcast and you laughed around the food in your mouth, waiting until you swallowed to murmur an “of course” at how mundane the topic was. The simplicity reminded you that the world kept spinning, even after small disasters.

-

You got into the car and buckled up, watching your mother get into the car and start it a moment later, also buckling her seatbelt. You were both going to the mall and, with Ben at daycare and your dad at work, it was just the two of you.

She pulled out of the driveway and started her way towards town, where the mall was. It was a bit of a drive, and you knew what was coming before she ever even offered her hand.

When your mother put her hand out, you took it, waiting for her to start the conversation. Your eyes were closed in hopes to evade the conversation altogether, your heart still heavy in your chest despite the distractions and the smile on your lips.

“You still have to take care of yourself when your loved ones are struggling,” she said simply, squeezing your hand lightly.

After a long silence, she continued speaking, knowing what you were about. She knew that you’d reply when you were ready, but she hated the silence. “This is going to be very, very hard for Dave, but it’s also going to be hard for you. It’s too late for him to keep you out of the loop the way you did to him, and everyone knows that you are going to be worried about him. You are his best friend. So this is going to be hard on you, even if it’s going to be harder for him, and you have to make sure to take care of yourself, ever if it’s just so that you can be there for Dave. Though, the fact that you’re important to me should be a pretty big deal as well.”

You stayed quiet for a moment before you spoke, all of your emotions splayed out in an obvious show. There was no faux smile, no pout, no silence. Just you being honest with our mom now. She’d see it if you weren’t. Why you didn’t do this last night escaped you. “Gosh, I am sorry. I am just really worried about Dave right now, I’m sorry,” you said. You voice cracked, but you ignored it because if you focused in on it then you’d be all-out bawling, and that could wait for the parking lot.

“You don’t have to apologize, just make sure you do what I say. Take care of yourself and everything will be alright,” she said quietly. You knew that she was waiting for you to say more as she pulled into the parking lot of the mall. Emotional intelligence and sharing was a priority in the family.

“I know this shouldn’t be a thing, but I’m ashamed that I didn’t notice it. I feel like a better friend would’ve known that something was going on before it got to a point where he threw up all of food or whatever he does, but I also know that that is idiotic and that there’s no way that I could’ve known. But that doesn’t stop me from being ashamed and very upset with what’s going on. And I want to be with him right now because I’m worried as heck, but I know that he needs to have some time with the doctors and things like that before I can go over there, and he needs time with his brother,” you rambled, the words feeling false but being true.

She waited for you to go on, parking the car in the empty side of the lot. She could see right through you, you knew.

The silence went by for what felt like forever, the moments stretching by while she waited for you give and just be honest. You don’t know how she knows to do this, how she knows when you’re hiding things. She just does.

“I really hate myself right now,” you said. It was similar to what you’d said earlier, but stronger, and painfully honest. “I know I shouldn’t, and I know that I should be using the coping skills bull to deal with this, but all I can think about is how I wasn’t _there_ for him, and how he obviously didn’t feel comfortable enough to come to me! And I knew that he was thin and I just thought it was a tall white metabolism thing, not that he wasn’t eating! I didn’t think to check _how_ thin he was and – and every Tuesday we’d get pizza from the lunch line and he’d talk about how much he loved tatertots with sour cream, but they only had sour cream on Taco Tuesday and he hasn’t done that in what feels like forever. And he texts me all night and I didn’t even think about it! He’ll—he would text me and say goodnight at like one in the morning and then say good morning at like three in the morning and that’s not normal but I let it become normal a-and I just ignored how not okay that was and let it slide as the norm.” You words began to increase in speed, falling from your lips more easily despite how dangerously close to sobbing you were. “And I am sorry for swearing but I just feel like a shitty friend and I know I shouldn’t but I hate myself.”

That’s when you started weeping, you head tilted down and a hand coming to your face. You took off your glasses so that you could wipe your eyes more easily, sniffling down the near-sobs that were wedged in your throat. It was less than a moment before your mom wrapped her arms around your shoulders, pulling you close and putting your face into the crook of your shoulder so that you could cry, leaned awkwardly over the center consol.

You were comforted by the familiar scent of her perfume while you sobbed quietly against her skin. She put her long fingernails into the hair of the back of your head, making small, comforting scratching motions which did a lot to relax you. Your eyes closed and you cried. She held you the way that you’d seen her do with Ben, and you suddenly felt very small and very safe. Like you were a firefly nestled in her hand; she’ll set you free, but for now she held you and kept you safe from the abrasive wind.

You wondered if the wind she was keeping you safe from was yourself, but the thought was fleeting.

She got a tissue from the glove box for you to wipe your nose and eyes on, kissing your forehead and full-on coddling you. A blonde girl who was too busy being angry at her sister to care about what you were up to passed by you, making you laugh quietly as you wiped your snotty nose on the tissue that your mother had provided. While you broke down, her life still existed, and that was comforting.

_Things kept on going without you._

When you were done with your parental feels jam, your mother cleaned you up and waited for you to calm down before she accompanied you out to the mall. You don’t know _why_ you guys were actually going to the mall, and you noticed that there weren’t other kids your age around because school was in (what was the blonde girl doing here? There’s no way that she was out of school), but you were happy to be there.

After getting a couple of tee shirts and one (1) pair of jeans for you (a little bit of the shopping was against your will; it never was your thing, but you noticed that all of the closest people in you life tried to get you to do it. Dave, your mom, Jade – you didn’t get the appeal), you guys sat down at the dying food court for lunch. No one was around because it was a week day, and the food court in the mall no longer held the appeal that it once did or something because half of the mini restaurants were closed for good. Maybe it was the mall itself, but the shops seemed to be doing fine.

After you ate through your food (unhealthy comfort food. Yum) and when your mom deemed her salad finished (… huh, she didn’t eat much), you both sat back, idly chatting.

“I can’t believe how tall you’re getting,” she said, putting her hand over yours in a warm gesture. You smiled at it, nodding.

“Yeah, soon I’ll be able to rival Dad,” you agreed, a smile plastered on your lips. She sighed again, and you played with the back of your hand idly, noting the dry ashiness of it.

“At around this time I’d usually be stealing some lotion from Jade,” you said, chuckling quietly. She ran her own thumb over the back of your knuckle.

“I have been your mother for a long time. I don’t mind it when your skin is dry because I have seen worse,” she said, making you chuckle a little more. You made a small fist and then relaxed your hand.

“Yeah, you have a good point. But also Jade’s lotion smells like papaya!” You smiled, giving her a flash of pearly whites. She laughed with you and, even though she wasn’t your biological mother, her laugh sounded a lot like yours. Rose would probably be interested to know that, and she would probably have some explanation about it.

“Do you want some papaya lotion?” She asked, arching an eyebrow at you. You grinned again, nodding.

“Is that even a question? Of course I want papaya lotion!” You said. And even though your thigh hurt with the small cuts on it, and the back of your mind still whittled away with worry, you felt pretty on top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literal shit


	4. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAPE, CHILD ABUSE, and MILDLY TRAUMATIZING SITUATIONS are mentioned and talked about in this. be VERY CAREFUL
> 
>  
> 
> _And this is my reaction_  
>  _To everything I fear_  
>  _Cause I've been going crazy_  
>  _I don't want to waste another minute here_

\--turntechGodhead joined the chat at 16:16!--   
TG: well im back from the hospital   
EB: yay!   
TG: a week in a mental hospital  
TG: seen by a normal hospital first  
TG: well  
TG: hospitalized  
TG: technically  
TG: and then put into an in-patient program  
TG: prescribed meds  
TG: etc  
EB: yeah.   
EB: so... what was it like?   
TG: jesus uh  
TG: terrible  
TG: it was so bad  
TG: holy shit  
TG: so  
TG: i didnt get to the place until about three in the morning  
TG: which is fucked up in itself  
TG: and then the lady there had me strip down so that i was ass naked and she took my height and weighed me and made notes about any lacerations or bruises and all that shit  
TG: and then she gave me this dumbass robe thing  
TG: and it was too big and it was awkward and papery and green  
TG: and then she had me stay up to fill out paperwork for an hour after that. legit. sitting there. in a fucking green robe. filling out paperwork  
TG: i just said whatever i could half that shits probably incorrect i dont fucking know if i had seizures as a baby  
TG: i was tired as hell  
TG: and i dont know what i signed  
TG: someone could come up and take my kidney and theyll be like "well YOU signed it away" and ill have to let em  
TG: but  
TG: that  
TG: fuck  
TG: after that she used her pen to go through my underwear to make sure there wasnt anyone i could stab anyone with or whatever the fuck  
TG: and then she told me i had to take the drawstring out of my pjs or choose something else to wear  
TG: and the same goes for my hoodie  
TG: and the ground was dirty and i didnt have shoes or socks on so crumbs kept sticking to my feet  
TG: and she took my shades  
TG: but i let her take the drawstrings out and i wore my tanktop and my hoodie to bed and my pj pants and grey boxers  
EB: that’s kinda tmi? but go on.   
TG: dude  
TG: on the form they asked how consistent were my bowel movements  
TG: and then they asked me about whether or not i pooped EVERY FUCKING DAY that i was in there  
EB: ew.   
TG: yeah  
TG: anyways  
TG: uh  
TG: when we got to the room i got the middle of three beds  
TG: and the frames were hard plastic and bolted to the ground  
TG: and the matress was a twin that was covered in this plastic covering too  
TG: and then she gave me a set of sheets and a blanket and watched me make my own bed  
TG: like seriously lady its four in the morning and this is YOUR job  
TG: and then she left and i tried to sleep but one of my roommates snored  
TG: (its amazing that they didnt wake up really)   
TG: but it wasnt an even snore itd be quiet for a while and they hed let out one MASSIVE SNORE THAT SHOOK THE WALLS  
TG: and then hed be quiet again  
TG: also the mattress had a crevass  
EB: a crevass?   
TG: yeah  
TG: like  
TG: a circle in the middle  
TG: the size of a person  
TG: like someone curled up in a ball and laid there for a week  
TG: and then the lady came and checked up on us around every fifteen minutes and offered me drugs the third time she came by because i was still awake  
TG: and then i took em  
TG: and by the fifth time i mustve asleep  
EB: were they good drugs?   
TG: i think it was a massive dose of placebo  
TG: and maybe motrin  
TG: but i slept which is what matters i guess  
EB: yeah i guess.   
EB: then what?   
TG: well  
TG: i woke up at eight  
TG: and i was hungry  
TG: but im always hungry lmao shoot me  
EB: :/   
TG: i have a minimum of two years of therapy for shit like that in my future dont give me that face  
EB: :/ :/   
EB: heh.   
TG: youre a cruel guy egbert  
TG: so anyways  
TG: i woke up  
TG: and they told me that because i wasnt looked at by a doctor yet and i was still level zero i had to stay on unit  
EB: what?   
TG: right????   
TG: i asked what level zero and what on unit meant and it meant that i had to stay in the area with the rooms instead of going to the cafeteria for breakfast with some other people that were level one or some shit  
TG: which sucked okay  
TG: it sucked  
TG: so  
TG: much  
TG: i cant even express to you how fucking scary this shit was  
TG: this may have been the worst experience of my life  
TG: holy shit  
EB: dave?   
EB: you don’t have to talk about it.   
EB: dave??   
EB: are you okay?   
EB: ...  
EB: are you there?   
TG: ya  
TG: im here  
TG: sorry  
TG: i just  
TG: needed  
TG: a moment  
EB: take all the moments you need! you don’t have to continue.   
TG: yeah  
TG: i do  
TG: ok just  
TG: bare with me  
EB: ok.   
TG: so i  
TG: had to eat breakfast with the people that couldnt go off-unit  
TG: and one of em was a six foot three guy who weighed like. a lot i dont know  
TG: and he ate three servings of food and he had a look in his eyes like he wouldnt really care if he killed me and he laughed for no reason the way people do in movies and he had to chose between this and going back to juvie and then to jail when he turned eighteen and then he told me that they put drugs in my food and that that was one of the forms i signed and i was freaked out   
TG: but i just ate and it was painful  
TG: he also said that he was already eighteen. his birthday was in august. he said hed actually been there for months and that they lied to you about the date  
TG: and then they watched me eat  
TG: the nurses i mean  
TG: and checked how much i ate  
TG: but they had lil plastic cups of aj!   
TG: but i wasnt allowed to go to the bathroom for 1 hr after that  
TG: the other people that were there was this other chick who was just super quiet and she just drew the whole time  
TG: (later i found out that her dad molested and beat her but her stepdad just beat her and then he slapped her because she was "being a brat" and they apparently had means to sue and she was unhappy about that)   
TG: (that happened on her birthday)   
TG: (she spent her birthday in a mental hospital)   
TG: (she was so nice)   
TG: (she had just turned 14 though thats sad as fuck)   
TG: and a guy who was detoxing off of heroin  
EB: yikes!   
EB: to all of that!   
TG: yeah  
TG: the guy was actually kinda cool  
TG: .   
TG: a  
TG: little hot  
TG: and he played baseball  
EB: dave.   
TG: what  
TG: nevermind  
EB: you were in a mental hospital for over a week  
TG: it was less than a week  
EB: and you had the time to think about how hot some guy was?   
TG: obviously  
TG: there was a thing with like the rules and fire escapes and stuff in it like a showcase thing  
TG: and it had a hard clear plastic cover thing  
TG: maybe like shatter-proof glass or something idk  
TG: and he punched it and cracked it and got scratches and bruises on his knuckles  
TG: so our fists matched  
TG: mine were fucked up for a different reason  
TG: haha  
EB: you know, i am looking through our old conversations and you make a lot of jokes that refer to anorexia and bulimia than i ever realized.   
EB: "EB: i could bring you cookies!"   
EB: "TG: egbert your dads cookies are so good i could just throw em up"   
EB: "EB: don’t you mean you could just throw up?"   
EB: "TG: shit dog my bad. turns out i _am_ capable of makin mistakes"   
EB: "TG: (just like my parents)"   
TG: okay  
TG: yeah  
EB: there’s more.   
TG: no  
TG: there isnt  
EB: i’m making it into a google doc.   
TG: damnit  
EB: anyways. after breakfast?   
TG: oh that  
TG: they gave me meds  
TG: which was fun  
TG: she told me which meds i should be on and then had me repeat em back to her  
TG: prozac 10 mg  
EB: doesn’t prozac lead to suicide?   
TG: stfu egbert  
TG: dick  
EB: sorry!   
EB: i’m just a zoloft guy myself.   
TG: in the week that i was gone you completely forgot how to conform to any social etiquette standards  
TG: anyways  
TG: meds  
TG: uh i went back to my room and they had my clothes in a bin  
TG: with some missing and my laces taken out of my shoes but my shades were there  
EB: all that without your shades?   
TG: yeah  
TG: it sucked  
TG: and then  
TG: people came back to the unit  
TG: and i got to meet my roommates  
TG: and so i sit down and i have to fill out ANOTHER form  
TG: and this chick just  
TG: sits next to me  
TG: and starts putting highlighter in my hair  
TG: and then another chick yells at her for it  
TG: and im like "idgaf its better than the shifty guy over there"   
TG: whos name was zeke btws  
TG: and then someone else explained that touching wasnt allowed  
TG: so we had this thing called the fairfax hug  
TG: oh god  
TG: fuck  
TG: okay so  
TG: you put your hands out and touch your middle fingers together in front of you and loop your arms  
TG: and then the other person does that and loops their arms with yours  
TG: so its like  
TG: a hug  
TG: without touching  
TG: ha  
TG: its weird as shit  
TG: and then we sat in a circle and introduced ourselves and what we were in for and everything and we talked about our emotions  
TG: and i said idk what i was in for  
TG: but this kid aaron didnt know either  
TG: so i said fuck that  
TG: i dont eat  
TG: but i dont know WHY  
TG: and it was really awkward  
TG: but it was sunday so people could visit twice  
TG: and thats the time that you visited me  
EB: holy shit.   
EB: that was all in twelve hours?   
TG: eighteen hours yeah  
EB: no wonder you looked so...  
TG: fucked up?   
EB: broken?   
TG: oh my god  
TG: thats too cliché for me sorry  
EB: but it’s kinda true! :(   
TG: dont  
TG: frownface  
TG: this  
TG: okay?   
EB: ok.   
TG: so anyways then you visited me on the unit and that was okay  
TG: best thing of the day really  
TG: and then i went back to sulking in the corner and i got a little golf pencil and a piece of paper and started to draw while we watched a movie  
TG: it was despicable me 2 which was awkward and hearing that happy song in a mental hospital was fucked up ugh  
TG: nothing against the song i just cant ever hear it again the same way  
TG: ever  
TG: like  
TG: ever legit  
EB: haha.   
TG: idk  
TG: im kinda tired  
TG: i should sleep  
EB: ok. be safe and sleep well! i will be on tomorrow and then we will visit the day after.   
TG: "and well visit the day after" what are you 60?   
TG: ill see you then yeah  
TG: night  
EB: :P you are mean. good night!   
\-- turntechGodhead ceased pestering ectoBiologist at 21:11! --  
-

\--turntechGodhead is no longer an idle chum!--   
EB: morning!   
TG: morning  
TG: god  
TG: fuck  
TG: i slept all night  
TG: like  
TG: the whole night   
EB: the whole night?   
TG: the whole night  
EB: that is unusual for you.   
TG: yeah   
TG: it really is  
TG: but   
TG: its nice?   
TG: and   
EB: and?   
TG: uh   
TG: let me put it into a "i feel because" statement like im supposta  
TG: ahem  
TG: i feel   
TG: hopeful  
TG: because   
TG: things are different  
TG: but also   
TG: i feel  
TG: afraid   
TG: that thingsll go back to the way they were  
TG: AND i feel afraid  
TG: because what if things never go back to normal?   
TG: lmao fuck i feel like im going to throw up  
EB: don’t throw up!   
TG: oh my fuck egbert  
TG: im not going to throw up   
TG: but i am going to  
TG: eat   
TG: now  
TG: ha  
TG: haha  
TG: holy shit  
EB: uh.   
EB: you okay?   
TG: yeah   
TG: totes  
TG: mbrb  
TG: gotta eat   
EB: okay!   
\--turntechGodhead is now an idle chum!--   
\--turntechGodhead is no longer an idle chum!--   
TG: ok   
TG: back  
TG: im here   
TG: im queer  
TG: get used to it   
TG: actually  
TG: i hate that chant???   
EB: so you’re not queer?   
TG: no i am   
TG: but theres no third endrhyme  
TG: theres so many wordsmiths in the lqbtq+ community   
TG: and then we came up with "were here were queer get used to it" like really   
TG: dont jeer   
TG: all year  
TG: its clear  
TG: something could have been found im sure   
TG: actually   
TG: kinda off topic but   
TG: you know what i fucking detest  
TG: "rip"   
EB: but it means rest in peace.   
TG: exfuckingactly  
TG: holy shit   
TG: that term was a term of respect for the dead   
TG: and you know what it is now?   
TG: a joke  
TG: it is a goddamn joke   
TG: so all those people with "RIP" actually written on their tombstones?   
TG: well its a FUCKING JOKE now   
TG: its something people say because they didnt study for a mathtest or because they dropped their popsicle on the driveway   
TG: and that is just disrespectful and its fucked up in my opinion   
EB: rip.   
TG: FUCKING   
\--turntechGodhead left the chat at 12:58!--   
EB: dave?   
EB: i am sorry! i did not think you were this serious about hating "rip."   
EB: …   
EB: god damn it.   
EB: i really am sorry!   
\--etcoBiologist left the chat at 13:12!--   
-

\--turntechGodhead joined the chat at 14:38!--   
EB: you never did finish telling me about the place.   
\--turntechGodhead is no longer an idle chum!--   
TG: oh yeah   
TG: i didnt   
TG: whered i leave off?   
EB: despicable me.   
TG: oh we aint even gotten to the second visit   
TG: i may have to do an abridged version  
TG: but yeah   
TG: then there was lunch   
TG: which  
TG: sucked   
TG: and they watched me eat again  
TG: and after lunch this chick spend an hour banging her head against the wall and yelled at the nurse people and threatened to sniff expo markers to get high which doesnt work and got sedated   
TG: and then zeke said i looked like a fag   
TG: and max just about fought him   
EB: who’s max?   
TG: cutie heroine addict  
EB: what.   
TG: what   
TG: yeah   
TG: and then they just cooled down   
TG: like nothing happened   
TG: and thats about when the second visit came around   
TG: and i fucking   
EB: you fucking?   
EB: dave?   
EB: hello?   
TG: i   
TG: fucking   
TG: broke the fuvk down   
TG: i   
TG: haha   
TG: i curled up im bros lap aand i sobbed and i tpld him i didnt feel safe and i cried and i sai da lot   
TG: of shit and i yold him i wanted to go home and   
TG: i told him about the fighting and how i was scared and i didn twant to sleep there and i didnt know what to do i just wanted out and  
EB: you don’t have to go on.   
TG: no i   
TG: i just   
TG: cried   
TG: a lot   
TG: and   
TG: and   
EB: dave it’s okay!   
EB: take your time. calm down.   
TG: im sorry   
TG: im so sorry   
EB: it’s okay!   
TG: no its not!   
TG: i let shit get too far  
TG: one cry with bro two years ago wouldve saved us from all this shit  
TG: but now i see a dietitian and im missing school  
EB: but it WILL be okay.   
TG: fuck  
TG: i hope so  
TG: so   
TG: after i cried i had dinner   
TG: but just saying bro was amazing and caring for him and so different from how he felt to me as a kid and he just   
TG: seemed like a parent for once  
TG: and it was weird   
TG: but after dinner this guy pulled me to the side like "yo your brother said you dont feel safe?"   
TG: and i was like   
TG: well yeah with the fighting   
TG: and he was like "you have to tell us were here to help you"   
TG: and i was like there are people with real problems here???   
TG: and when i feel unsafe people are needed in other places   
TG: and he told me to tell me anyways   
TG: and then i went to bed early and skipped nightime group and music therapy   
EB: and that was just the first day?   
TG: yup   
TG: the second day was kinda similar but i saw a doctor after lunch and there was only one visiting time  
TG: therapy was weird i played the song "soundtrack 2 my life" during music therapy and we used the iphone of one of the nurses  
EB: that song is by byyyyyy  
EB: kid cudi?   
TG: did you google it   
EB: ...   
EB: maybe.   
TG: no its cool   
TG: its kinda sweet   
EB: I got 99 problems And they all bitches  {From Lyric Masters! Sign up now!}   
EB: darn it!   
TG: ha   
TG: you dont even type like that   
TG: what were you even trying to do  
TG: but   
TG: i really like the "hope i really live to see thirty wanna settle down stop being so flirty most of the clean faces be the most dirty" lines  
TG: though honestly i just like the whole third verse except the sanitizer line   
TG: and any sexism in the song   
EB: i guess i could see that.   
TG: yeah   
TG: i know you aint into rap or any shit so ill shut up about it   
EB: it’s cool! i’d like to hear what’s up in your life right now, really. even if i don’t get it.   
TG: gay   
EB: fuck you.   
EB: changed my mind. i don’t want to hear about your emo rap.   
TG: lmao  
TG: anyways   
TG: its getting really hard to talk about this shit honestly   
EB: if you need to stop we can.   
TG: its fine   
TG: i just   
TG: i have to skim now   
TG: like not tell everything its too much thinking about it  
TG: besides shit kinda blended together after day one  
TG: there was one cool and kinda sane person who said she felt empty because of her meds   
TG: and she was alright   
TG: tw or whateves but   
TG: she was raped   
TG: actually   
TG: almost every girl that was in there was raped in some form   
TG: some were abused sexually as children or tweens   
TG: but the rest were pretty much straight up raped   
TG: so like one chick was super rowdy and rude   
TG: but another chick talked about how shed been raped by her older boyfriend and the first chick just  
TG: stopped   
TG: and she was nice   
TG: and she admitted that the same had happened to her   
TG: like   
TG: now im pissed off by all those jokes about younger girlfriends and older boyfriends??   
TG: like i never LIKED those jokes but now theyre on a blacklist for not being funny ever at all  
TG: they will be met with a stony silence of "i dont think your behavior is okay"   
TG: because these girls are fucking kids   
TG: and theyre actually HURT and they cant just BE OKAY after this   
TG: itll take years for them to recover and that shit will NEVER be comfortable or okay  
TG: its fucked up   
TG: and like   
TG: only half of the rape cases are reported or something??? and one in six women are statistically sexually assaulted?? so thats   
TG: thats fucked up i mean   
TG: that means like   
TG: A LOT of women are assaulted or something   
TG: my facts may not be perfect google it if you want sources   
TG: but yeah   
TG: its fucked up and i had to see the suicidal, cutting, anorexic, drug-reliant results   
TG: but anyways   
TG: the girls  
TG: my heart went out to them   
TG: because they had a solid reason to be fucked up that shit sucks ass   
TG: and then we talked about   
\--turntechGodhead is now an idle chum!--   
EB: dave?   
EB: are you okay?   
EB: daaaaave?   
EB: i am worried.   
EB: ...   
EB: helllllllo?   
EB: i mean   
EB: you can always not talk about it.   
\--turntechGodhead is now online!--   
TG: sorry   
TG: i had to eat apparently  
TG: and i did that   
TG: but yeah   
TG: we talked about  
TG: parental relations  
TG: and stuff  
TG: i didnt say much   
TG: but i did hear some fucked up stories   
TG: and about how one chick had a kid   
TG: shes 15  
TG: her kid is a year old   
TG: fuck  
TG: i mean   
TG: fuck  
EB: damn.   
TG: exactly   
TG: thats   
TG: all i feel like i can really share   
TG: i feel im going to throw up   
EB: ok. are you okay? please don’t throw up.   
TG: i wont   
TG: i have to see a dietitian today anyways   
TG: i should get dressed soon   
TG: get all fancy for this type of doctor that i had never even heard of before  
EB: yeah.   
EB: but wait!   
EB: do you want me to tell rose or jade?   
TG: no!   
TG: no  
TG: nah   
TG: ill tell em on my own  
TG: after its okay and shit  
TG: since like   
TG: i FEEL ashamed BECAUSE i cant handle my shit  
TG: idk   
TG: i have to go  
TG: ly bye  
\--turntechGodhead ceased pestering ectoBiologist at 16:45!--   
EB: love you too. bye!   
\--ectoBiologist ceased pestering turntechGodhead at 16:47!--   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was like super fucking hard to write? but even harder to code lmaoooooo


	5. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's kinda homophobic in this one but he doesn't know it. 
> 
> _Make believe that I impress_   
>  _That every word_   
>  _By design_   
>  _Turns a head_   
>  _I wanna feel reckless_   
>  _I wanna live it up, just because_   
>  _I wanna feel weightless_   
>  _Cause that would be enough_

**READER== > Take care of yourself please.**

**READER== > Be John.**

You met Dave on the day that you guys had talked about, going to his apartment and hanging in his room. His room had been cleaned by his brother; Dirk had found more hidden food than anyone was really comfortable with. The room felt barren without the usual amounts of filth. You both sat on his bed, lapsing in and out of wordlessness - not silence, though. Dave played quiet music in the background, not being a huge fan of silence himself. He never had been, usually preferring something with a strong backbeat to distract him. 

Dave was half-facing the ceiling, half on his side, laying in front of you. You had an arm around his waist, keeping him close, but you had troubles resisting the temptation of running your fingers over his ribs. They’d always been a wonder to you - you’d never been the thinnest dude, so feeling his ribs under your fingers had been foreign to you in the previous times that you held him. 

Now, the action would just have a bitter edge. It would just make pain and guilt settle cloud up from your bone marrow. 

“I missed a week of school. How did the jazz band hold up without me?” 

“The two back-ups from the after school band are swapping between your songs. One can’t even keep a hit in time,” you said, sighed and pulling him minutely closer. You and Dave practiced together, piano and drumset, and worked on staying together in the rhythm section - Jade sometimes joined, but she didn’t want to wake up too early, so she wasn’t in jazz band. So, all in all, the band sucked without Dave. 

“Is it the one on the and of three? Because I had to practice that one so much man,” he said, looking over to you. He seemed so tired, you couldn’t help but notice. It put a dull ache in your chest. 

“Oh but do you hear that? You _actually practice_ ,” you pointed out, closing you eyes. “Of course I don’t want to be mean, but I don’t understand how they can get so pissed about being jammed into the back-up band when they don’t even put an hour of effort into their practice. I totally get not practicing every day, but at least learn your part! Rehearsal’s for learning everyone else’s part.”

“Oh Jesus, the poor band. I won’t even be back by the concert, so y’all’re gonna have to deal with that shit. But I should be back in time for contest,” he noted, referring to the regional competition. Your jazz band had a 15 consecutive Superior’s (the highest score, also known as a one), and no one wanted drumset players that lacked experience in the band and that didn’t practice to ruin the streak. There was actually a lot of pressure of Dave, you noted.

“Thank goodness,” you said, nodding. “Shame about the concert though. We’ll let down our ten fans.”

He chuckled softly at that, letting music fill the quiet between you once again. He’d been lapsing into silence a lot lately. Probably stress, you figured, not minding it. Whatever made him feel comfortable was fine.

It was a while before he spoke again, softly, like he didn’t want to disturb you, and you ended up turning your head towards him to listen more carefully. 

“They’re gonna pull some weird bullshit and have me stay out for the rest of the semester, and then hop back in second half,” he said, closing his eyes and turning to he was facing you completely. Your arm stayed around his waist, but his hands were resting between the two of you. Neither of you shifted to make the position any less awkward. At least he didn’t seem to mind T-Rex-ing it. 

“Your grades are going to be fine,” you said softly, taking a deep breath. He shook his head. 

“I don’t know about that. But, at this point, I don’t even know if that’s what I’m worried about. I’m going to miss content and lessons that could affect shit later and I feel like I’m getting special treatment because of my good friend Ana. I’m not even taking semester finals!”

“Your good friend- oh. Well. I’m sorry. I wish I could help. But, Dave, you’re very sick and I think that they would make these exceptions for anyone. And on top of that, you’re not even anyone. You have stellar grades, and you’re pleasant and funny and responsible. People _like_ you. So they’re more than willing to help you out, Dave.” He sighed softly, shrugging a bit. 

“I’m scared,” he mumbled almost silently, pulling back a little to look at your face. One hand went up to his cheek, resting there gently. You didn’t have anything to say to that, so you let the electronic music fill up the space between the two of you. Your hearts were heavy, but most of the weight was shared now - between you, Dirk, Dave and his armada of health professions - and even your therapist. With time, everything would be fine.

After the song ended he leaned forward, slowly, and placed a kiss onto your lips. It was a small but minutely sustained peck, his face relaxed but his heart beating quickly. Somehow, you managed to stay relaxed, taking a deep breath through your nose. You made no move to return the kiss, however, just as he made no move to deepen it. It was a short thing, only lasting a second or two before he pulled away and returned to his position. 

You looked at Dave, sighing softly. His eyes were closer, and you ran a thumb under his eye to rub the tear into the skin. 

“When you’re better,” you promised softly. He nodded, his eyes still closed and his face red from his efforts to not cry. 

A bass trombone played in the song in the background, and when it was done with its line you spoke again quietly. “I love you, too.” 

He scooted closer so that his head was on your chest, his eyes closed. He was weeping silently, you noticed, and you could tell he was trying not to. You simply held him until he fell asleep, petting his hair softly listening to the lyrics of his music. Your heart hurt with you love for that boy, but he need to be able to love himself first. 

(So did you.)

-

Dave ate slowly. 

You were both sitting in front of the television, eating dinner together, and he didn’t finish eating until the end of the second episode of _The Great British Bake Off_. Every bite seemed planned, and he chewed his food for longer than you thought was necessary. You didn’t understand it when he cut every piece of broccoli up.

You didn’t comment, eating your own food wordlessly. 

-

You had to go to school the next day. You did fall asleep with him on the couch, holding him (you were the big spoon), and you stayed asleep until Bro got home from work. When he did, he woke you up and took you home. You were drowsy the whole way back back, the sun long gone and the trek between the car and your bed terrible. It threatened to steal away your sleepiness, but you didn’t let it. 

You kicked off your shoes and plopped down as soon as you were in your room, your glasses and jeans still on your person. You sank back into sleep quickly, your mind shutting down long after your body. The last thing you thought about was Dave’s lips on yours before you fell asleep completely, coupled with what you’d said in response to it. 

You felt like it was the right thing. 

-

On Saturday, you went over to his house. School had been big and empty without him. It was hard to focus on all of the work that slid in front of your eyes, but you powered through. 

Your leg accommodated a few more... scratches, and you almost had a heart-attack when a dot of red colored your white-washed jeans. You got it out and did a load of laundry before your mom ever noticed, though. 

When you saw Dave, you couldn’t help but think about how much better he looked already. You sighed softly and stepped in, pulling him into a firm hug. 

“Great greeting,” he mumbled, burying his face into your shoulder. You chuckled softly, kicking the door lightly to close it and then moving the two of you forward in a kinda rocking motion. He laughed quietly, stepping backwards and holding onto you, trying not to stumble or fall or anything. After a couple of steps, you picked Dave up and carried him to the couch, both of you laughing along the way. He wrapped his long limbs around you and hugged you close to prevent himself from being dropped. With an amused snort, you collapsed onto the couch with him trapped between you and the cushions, making him wheeze dramatically. 

“Welcome to the Casa de Strider,” he said with an exaggeratedly strained voice. You laughed, rolling to your side so that you weren’t on top of him, wedging him between you and the back of the couch. He still had his face buried in your shoulder, his laughter dying down slowly. 

“I’m glad to have made it to this casa. Como es la biblio-techno?” You joked, making him cringe a little. 

He replied in fast Spanish that was lost on you, making you roll your eyes at his lingual-showboating. A smile stayed on your lips, though, and you looked back at Dave. 

A silence passed between you for a moment, and your mind went back to when he kissed you. You knew that he wouldn’t do it again, though.

“ _A veces,_ ” he said softly, looking at you. “ _Deseo que moriría._ ”

You put your hand onto his cheek, rolling you eyes again and shaking your head. 

“I do not speak Spanish. Your fancy words are lost on me,” you joked. He rolled his eyes right back, a smile on his thin lips.

“Good. That way you can never repeat them,” he said, sitting up a little. 

“I can only imagine what you’re saying to me. Probably professing your undying love for the best actor you’ve ever see-”

“I will literally tickle you until you pee,” Dave threatened, his voice frosty cold. You chuckled softly, preemptively shying away from him in avoidance. “That’s more like it.”

“This is blackmail,” you said, unable to keep the grin from your face. Dave’s lips had relaxed into a small smile that seemed smug, and you nudged his shoulder lightly. 

“I think you’ll live,” he said, snorting softly. You pulled back enough to actually look at him, basking in the glow that seemed to come off of him. He was eating and sleeping now, and the difference was already visible. You smiled at him while you guys lapsed into silence, laying on the couch like that. 

You counted his freckled in the silence, watching his face relax. He still had his shades on, and his lips were thin and chapped. His jawline was still strong as ever, and his cheekbones still with their strong angles. His pale skin and pinkish cheeks, his blonde hair, and the small scar on his left cheek would always be wedged in your mind. His slightly-crooked nose, too. 

He was not okay. But he was getting there.

-

“John!” 

That was all the warning you got before Jade Harley was barreling over you, pulling you into an iron-grip hug that made you wheeze. You could not even hug her back! You just had to stand there while she squeezed you because your arms were pinned to your sides. You chuckled tiredly, looking at Jade when she pulled back. 

“Hey, Jade! Oh, hi Rose!” 

“Where’s Dave?!” Jade asked while Rose gave a dainty wave. You shrugged, knowing that you weren’t allowed to tell her. “He hasn’t been in school for a week!”

“Yes, and his cyber presence is no longer overwhelming my life. Our contact has gone down notably, and our conversations are few and far between now. This is an awfully long time to just be sick,” Rose chimed in. You shrugged a little.

“I told you… he’s uh… sick!” Gosh, this was getting difficult! You just repeated what Rose said!

“For a week?” Jade asked, squishing your face between her palms. You pursed your lips sheepishly, trying to figure out what to say. 

You glanced to Rose for help and got none.

“He got mono!” You eeped out after a tense pause, squeezing your eyes shut. Rose raised a manicured eyebrow, seeming a little surprised.

“He made out with someone? Or did he get it from you - _oh_ , did he get it from band?” You blinked at Jade while her words tumbled from her mouth at once, trying to figure out what you were supposed to say to all of that. Did she expect you to give Dave mono? Or… 

“Am I supposed to have a monopoly on Dave’s lips?” You asked, your voice squished from how she continued to hold your face. 

“That or an embargo,” Rose mumbled. You blinked. 

“Dave and I don’t kiss!” You pulled back from Jade’s grip, frowning to yourself. Did they really think that you owned Dave’s lips? What did they think of you and Dave? “What kind of relationship do you think we have?”

“She’s just saying that you two are super close! And that when girls flirt with you, Dave gets super jealous. And vice versa!”

“No! You’re saying that the only person that Dave would make out with is me and that I would’ve given him mono! And that if that’s not it then he shared reeds or some shit! Don’t try to spin this like you’re not- not _saying_ that we’re- don’t touch me! I thought you guys were my friends and Dave’s sick and you’re just making lip jokes!” You stepped back from Jade, looking between her and Rose. Before either of them could say anything, you turned away. 

First period was spent in silence. You didn’t raise your hand once.

-

“I told Rose and Jade that you got mono. They kept asking questions.”

“Alright. I take it they’re trying to figure out who I was kissing?” He was trying to joke. 

You’d never understand bulimia, but you could have thrown up right then. 

-

_Nah, they just thought you were swapping reeds with someone. As if you would ever touch a clarinet!_

You fell asleep next to him, laying a little further away from him than usual. Strings tightened in your chest, and you felt bad about feeling bad. 

-

You weren’t gay. 

Your hands shook when you woke up on the couch holding him. 

You don’t even have to say who. 

_You’re not gay, you’re not gay, you’re not gay._

But if you’re not gay, then why is Dave different?

-

You’ve started doing your own laundry. It makes it easier to hide things. Thank god you don’t own any white pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im kinda suck at updating   
> here it is   
> my new-years resolution is to finish this

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone thank the friend that sits with me on the bus, with her poems and her bright blue jacket, and her damn eyes, who deals with my shit whenever I don't need to take my saxophone home.


End file.
